Pieces of a Broken Heart
by Sanqhian
Summary: Lassiter wants it to workout more than anything but he can't ignore the fear in Shawn's eyes. Sequel to Void.
1. Straight Through my Heart

**One: Straight through my heart**

Carlton Lassiter sipped his coffee, making a face when the cold liquid passed over his tongue. He could have sworn he had just refilled the cup. Not that the precinct coffee was worth the effort half the time. Pushing the mug toward the back of his desk he turned his attention back to the paperwork spread across the desk. The week had been especially busy and he had let the case files pile up. Now he was going over things again, scribbling little notes as he settled into what looked to be a long day of writing reports. His least favorite part of being a detective. He much rather be out nabbing a bad guy or down at the shooting range practicing.

He glared at the desk adjacent to his wondering how Juliet O'Hara always managed to stay on top of things. He was the senior detective, not her, so he should have been able to handle the case load as well as keeping up with reports. Something had been off for a while now; he could feel it but had been unwilling to admit it. Though he constantly seemed to be trying his hardest he lacked focus. Last night while getting ready for bed he began to wonder if it might actually be time for a change of career. He had heard of cops getting burned out, overworked and totally destroyed by the job. A lot of the detectives his age took their pension and found something else to do before the job killed them.

Up until last night he always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. Always wanted to be remembered as a great member of the force who died doing the job. Now he wasn't sure of much. Aside from the simple fact that he really needed to be paying attention to his paperwork. Chief Vick refused to let him work another crime scene until he got somewhere on his reports. The old Lassiter would have argued with her, been angered by her decision. But not the new Lassiter. The new Lassiter merely nodded his head once to show he understood then shuffled back to his desk, plopping down in the chair.

Since then he managed to get one report finished.

In two hours.

At this rate it was going to take him forever. Sighing, he grabbed his coffee mug and headed toward the small break room. The cold coffee went down the drain and he started a new pot, leaning against the counter while he waited for it to brew. His arms crossed over his chest he closed his eyes. Who was he fooling? He had heard the others talking when they weren't aware he was in range. They talked about his lack of focus, his occasional slip-ups and the way he always looked tired, run down. Beaten. Defeated. He tried, oh he tried like hell to make it through each day but the cracks were spreading. He could feel them getting longer, deeper. It was only a matter of time until he fell apart completely.

And he needed to stop thinking about things not related to work. Either he needed to get the reports done or just call it quits, head home and anger the boss in the process. When the coffee maker let him know it was done he turned, pouring a fresh mug of the hot liquid. Once it was to his liking he head back to his desk, blowing on it. Despite the fact that there were other people in the building he felt oddly alone. Isolated. So much had changed in his world, in him. Officer McNab commented on how withdrawn he had become while they working a crime scene. It pissed Lassiter off but not enough to make him yell at the officer. How could he yell at Buzz? The poor guy had been shot in the line of duty not too long ago.

Settling back at his desk he took a sip of the coffee, burned his tongue despite his best efforts and picked up his pen. He stopped short, looking at the pen. It was overly familiar. Usually he could have cared less about such a simple object overlooked by so many people every day. He used to be one of those people. But this was no ordinary pen. It had been his a while ago but mysteriously disappeared from his desk one day. Some time ago he stumbled across it again and now…He put it down, wanting to avoid the rush of memories that would come with it. Instead he reached across to Juliet's desk and grabbed one of her pens. He slipped his inside his desk drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.

Somehow he finally managed to get through the fog in his brain and make decent headway on his reports, throwing all his focus into the job at hand. When it was reaching the end of his shift he thought he heard a familiar voice coming from the chief's office. The door was partially open but he couldn't see inside. He stopped, frozen, listening. He did indeed know the voice. His heart began to race beating frantically against his ribcage. His hand began to shake to the point he had to put the pen down or screw up what he was doing, forcing him to start all over again. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest to hide the shaking. The last thing he needed was for the officers to start gossiping about it.

He began to feel sick, his eyes darting toward the partially open doorway. He felt a bead of sweat on his upper lip, licked it away. Mentally he counted, growing more anxious with each passing minute. And then the door opened. Chief Karen Vick and her guest stepped out, stopping right outside the doorway. Not wanting to be caught doing nothing Lassiter quickly picked up the pen and bent over his desk pretending to be working. He had been right in guessing the source of the voice. Not that it made him feel any better. He felt about ready to throw-up or pass out when he felt the presence of someone standing near his desk.

Slowly he looked up until his eyes met with Henry Spencer's. He swallowed down his nervousness hoping he was doing a good job of at least looking calm. Probably not. "Mr. Spencer, what a surprise. What brings you here today?"

"I need you to come to the hospital with me," Henry said, his voice soft but commanding.

"Why?"

Henry pulled the pen out of Lassiter's hand. "Just come with me, Carlton."

He quickly looked away, the blood racing through his ears. He had been hoping for and dreading this moment for so long it seemed. "I have paperwork," he spoke, his voice not so loud and his words unconvincing. Why was he avoiding the inevitable?

"Karen says you can have the rest of the day off," Henry told him. "Come on, let's go."

Lassiter allowed Henry to pull him out of his chair and lead him to the front door of the precinct. He passed Juliet on the way out and would have said something to her but she was deep in conversation with Buzz and Gus. None of them noticed him as he passed by. Outside the brilliant glare of the sun greeted him, chasing away some of the darkness lingering around the edges. His heart slowed a little. He wanted to ask questions, pump Henry for answers but at the same time he was afraid of what he might here. There were only two reasons to go to the hospital.

A miracle or death.


	2. Love or Torture

**Two: Love or Torture**

Somehow he managed to avoid asking questions during the drive to the hospital. With the radio off and Henry as quiet as a field mouse the interior of his old pick-up truck grew to be a bit uncomfortable to Lassiter. After all the time he had spent with Henry he should have been fine, at ease and not ready to jump out of his skin. Or thinking about throwing open the door and jumping out. When Lassiter first got to really know Henry they sort of had a friendship, even if it had been short lived. They both liked to go fishing. He liked hanging out with Henry back then because it drove Shawn crazy and if he could get under Shawn's skin he was happy.

Ah, the good ole days. How so much had changed and so drastically.

He watched the world pass by out the window, hordes of people going about their lives like nothing was amiss. For some of them the bright sunny day was a good day to be alive. For him it was another tiring day in a long line of similar days. From dawn to dusk he did the same thing, slipped into a routine to keep from having moments to dwell. When it did so happen that he wound up with a free moment his mind slipped away to another time and place. Then there would be pain, an ache accompanied by an unyielding void.

And in the next few minutes it threatened to devour him.

There was only one reason for Henry to come by the precinct and give him a ride to the hospital. The hospital, the last possible place on earth he wanted to be on such a cheery day. But he was going to see Shawn and he was not exactly how sure he felt about the idea. The most annoying man in the world always ready to jump in when no one wanted to hear what he had to say. Usually because he tended to speak non-sense claiming all the while to be psychic. It might have worked with some of the other officers and people in the city of Santa Barbara but Lassiter never once believed it, not for a second. Okay, maybe a second but no longer. Sometimes it irked him to think of how talented Shawn was and how great a cop he would be if he only bothered to apply himself the right way. But none of it mattered now.

Three months.

Three months had gone.

Unknown to anyone at work he marked each individual day on his calendar with a big red 'X'. And with each 'X' he felt a little more of himself slipping away. Lost, completely and utterly lost. Some days it seemed longer than three months and others it was like it all happened yesterday. For the most part he glossed over the events of Shawn's departure and return. More than anything he saw the pain in the other man's eyes. He remembered how shocked he had felt upon finding the fresh stab wound in Shawn's side, the utter disgust and hatred when he learned about Patrick and all the horrible things the man did to Shawn. But one memory stood out from all the rest, one more vivid and terrifying. The night he stumbled across Shawn lying on the street bleeding from two bullet wounds. One to the gut and the other to the head. He liked to think that at the moment he finally understood, finally saw Shawn the way he was meant to all along.

With love.

And he waited for the last three months nearly consumed by his thoughts.

Three months. The bullet to the head didn't cause any permanent damage that the doctors could tell. However, there had been a bit of swelling in the brain. They claimed to be unable to give a one hundred percent clean bill of health to Shawn until he woke up and they could test his functions. Three months and Shawn never woke up. Each day Lassiter waited with baited breath for the call to come, for the hospital to inform him that Shawn was finally awake. Each day another little part of that hope died, vanished as the call did not come. Henry must have known what Lassiter was going through, must have seen the torture or someone at work told him because before long Henry started coming 'round day after day. When Lassiter wasn't busy Shawn's dad would drag him off to do some half-hearted fishing or just to make idle chitchat.

Lassiter tried but it never made him feel any better. Though it was nice to see that Henry was willing to welcome him into his life.

Everyone tried to cheer him up; Juliet, Chief Vick, even Buzz and Gus. Nothing worked. He might fain a smile and force a laugh but the minute he was alone the depressing thoughts came roaring back. And the more he dwelled on it while driving to the hospital the more he came to hate himself. What the hell had happened to him? Where was the detective that didn't care, the man so focused on his job that he ignored the rest of the world unless it somehow led him to his crook? What happened to that Lassiter? Where had he gone?

When questioned the doctors could give no explanation for why Shawn would not wake up. Apparently all of his tests kept coming back normal. He fought off a small infection from the wound in his gut and continued to do well on the machines. He was even breathing on his own but he would not open his eyes, did not seem to register the world around him. For all intents and purposes Shawn was gone, no longer part of the world. He wasn't brain dead but he wasn't awake. Lassiter remembered with an icy chill how Gus came into the precinct just last week in tears looking for Juliet. He had been down at the hospital to visit Shawn, speaking with the doctors and everything came to a head.

The doctors started talking about letting Shawn go to a facility better suited for people in his condition.

Whatever that meant.

And another part of Lassiter died. Chief Vick sent him home, took him off the case he was working and told him to get his ass home. He spent the rest of the day lying in his bed thinking, pondering. Would he ever be whole? Was he capable of returning to the person he used to be or would he forever be haunted by the ghost of Shawn? Later that evening he had gotten a phone call from Shawn's mom and they spoke for nearly an hour. Suddenly Lassiter felt like he was part of their family. But without Shawn…

"I feel like I am being tortured," he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence as Henry pulled into the hospital parking lot. "These last three months have been a never-ending torture session."

"That is another part of being in love," Henry responded. He directed the pick-up truck into an spot between a van and sports car.

Lassiter scoffed. "Love."

"Love is torture," Henry said getting all philosophical. "You can't have one without the other…well; I guess you can have torture without love but not the other way around. Love is the best and worst thing that can happen to a person."

"It tears you up." Lassiter looked toward the hulking mass of the hospital knowing that within Shawn was sleeping. He began to think about the visit from Gus, the tears, the call from Shawn's mother, all of it replaying in his head again and again. The way Henry came to get him from work. Had they made up their minds about Shawn? Had they decided to put Shawn in some sort of long-term facility, completely given up on him, and wanted to give him a chance to say goodbye?

Henry turned off the engine. "Yeah, but love is wonderful. We need to learn how to hold on tighter when it comes our way because far too often we let it slip away."

Lassiter could feel the mounting grief. He did not want to say goodbye to Shawn. Ever. "Why are we here, Henry?"

It took a moment before Shawn's dad answered. "My son fell in love with you, Carlton. I have no earthly idea why. Don't get me wrong, you're a great guy in so many ways, just not the type of person I ever thought Shawn would choose." And Lassiter knew it had nothing to do with him being a guy. Shawn's parents didn't care about their son's sexual preference. It was just that Shawn was his opposite. Polar opposite. "You screwed up in a big way."

"Thanks for reminding me." If he sounded bitter he was not sorry.

"Maybe things got way out of hand but I think Shawn never stopped loving you. Not once," Henry told him only making it hurt worse. "Having spoken with my ex and Gus and Juliet I can tell that maybe, just maybe you two were meant to be together no matter what. And now I have to believe it."

Henry had completely lost him. "Why?"

And Henry beamed, a smile spreading across his face. "Because you're being given a second chance, Carlton. The hospital called me this morning. Shawn finally woke up."

Lassiter's world stopped moving.


	3. The Remedy

**Three: The Remedy**

Lassiter walked a step behind Henry. He put his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that he was shaking. The idea of seeing Shawn, of being able to look into his eyes, the ability to talk with him sent a reaction through his body, though he couldn't quite say what. One minute he felt elated, overly excited at the prospect of visiting with Shawn. The next he was nervous, ready to turn around and return to the precinct. Perhaps nobody was aware but him, aware of the still firmly lingering guilt. It was his anger that drove Shawn away. It was his continued harassment of the younger man that sent Shawn looking for love somewhere else and finding it in the wrong place. Then he tried to help Shawn at the bequest of the others until he realized that he was developing feelings for the other man. Yet he failed. He failed to protect Shawn, to keep him safe from Patrick Woodson.

At least if Shawn asked he could honestly tell him that Patrick would never hurt him again. Patrick was dead, gone, a body under a pile of earth with only a small tombstone to remember him by. Lassiter knew it for a fact because he killed Patrick. Put two bullets in him when Patrick tried to take him out. And out of sheer hatred for the other man he planned on avoiding the funeral but for some reason felt compelled to go at the same time. So he went, probably out of curiosity to see what sort of turnout the crooked cop received. Not surprisingly a lot of investigation had been going on since Patrick was murdered, mostly at the pushing of his ex-partner, Mark Rossi. Apparently a lot of dirty things were dug up, things the police precinct up north did not want people finding out about. The funeral turned out to be a small affair, not the highly played out, respectful event most fallen cops received.

After all, how could anyone respect a cop who killed a fellow officer and then tried to gun down a detective?

He shook his head as he came to a stop. Henry was deep in conversation with a doctor. Lassiter lingered back, wondering what he was going to say when he saw Shawn. Did Shawn even want to see him? There had not been time for him to say what he needed to say before Patrick got to Shawn. He never got the chance to speak his mind, to confess the thoughts running rampant through his mind. But perhaps in the long run it was a good thing. As he stood there quietly waiting he began to feel nervous again, uneasy, ready to just turn around and leave. He still wasn't sure of how he felt. Most days he thought he loved Shawn, then he would remember something annoying Shawn did and feel mad the rest of the day. How could he fall in love with someone so aggravating?

Yet no matter what he did he never stopped thinking about Shawn. Not even for a second. At every crime scene he thought of how Shawn might act. At work he envisioned Shawn walking in with Gus in-tow, the two of them carrying on some crazy conversation. Even while at home on down time he thought about Shawn. Surely that meant he loved the man. Or could it be a simple mix up, a confusion of love when in actuality it was only guilt?

"Right this way, detective," Henry said, breaking through his thoughts.

Lassiter sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. He wasn't up for this, he might have been a little while ago as he sat at his desk filling out paperwork but not anymore. He wanted to be back at work buried deep in the crime that ruled his world. Not about to walk into a situation he had no clue how to handle. What the hell was he going to say to Shawn when he walked into the room? And how would Shawn react?

"And here we are," Henry stepped aside leaving Lassiter standing in front of a hospital room door. Someone, he pegged it to be Buzz, left a sign made up of clippings on the door. Newspaper clippings feature Shawn and sometimes Lassiter. Nothing more than pictures. No articles or captions under the photos. He recognized a few of them from the old shoebox he once found in Shawn's trash. Those had articles attached though, and happened to be safe in his custody. No one knew about the box. He hadn't even shared the discovery with O'Hara. It was his little secret. Something between him and Shawn. And even Shawn did not realize he had it.

Realizing that he was stalling Lassiter bunched up his courage, mentally chastised himself for being ridiculous and pushed open the door. The smell of the hospital always bothered him. The overly sanitary aroma mixing with blood and medicine. It was enough to make anyone nauseous. He wasn't sure exactly what he expected to find upon opening the door but he found Shawn sitting up in bed, less tubes and wires connected to him than the last time he visited. The television in the corner buzzed. There were flowers and balloons and cards and teddy bears all over the place. Lassiter wondered who sent them. Figured it wasn't really any of his business. Then felt bad for not sending anything.

At the sound of his entrance Shawn turned his focus away from the TV. He had lost a little weight over the last three months and was a bit paler than usual but he was still the same ole Shawn.

"Lassie-face," he said cheerfully, easing a bit of Lassiter's nervousness. "Are you stuck on a case? Do you need my psychic input?"

It was nice to see some things never changed. "No, Spencer, your dad told me you were awake so…" For some reason he was reluctant to get too close to the bed.

"Well, you know where to find me if you need me," Shawn replied.

It sounded like a dismissal to Lassiter, making him wince. Of course Shawn wasn't happy to see him. Why should he be? He wanted to leave, to walk right out the door and go back to the pile of paperwork waiting for him at the office. Yet he stayed, torn between his two warring halves. One side said it was the best news in the world if Shawn wanted nothing to do with him. He could go back to living his life the way he had before he knew how Shawn felt. The other half wanted him to go home, curl up in bed and be miserable the rest of the day.

"I'm sorry, Shawn."

Shawn continued to stare at the TV.

Once the words were out of his mouth there was no stopping the rest from falling out. "I'm sorry I got mad at you, that I always get mad at you. I'm sorry I failed to keep you safe from Patrick and he was able to hurt you again. I can't go back and make things right. I fucked things up royally and it has been eating away at me every day, the guilt keeps me awake at night. I-"

Shawn finally turned to him. Lassiter expected to see love, forgiveness in Shawn's eyes and was taken aback when he saw anger. "And what, I should just forgive you for everything because you feel guilty?"

"No, I-"

"Please leave," Shawn said to him.

Not willing to stay around and argue Lassiter turned toward the door. With his hand on the knob he stopped his back to Shawn. "He's dead, Shawn. Patrick is dead." That was the last thing he said before he stepped out into the hall. Henry looked startled, surprised to see him so soon but when the retired cop tried to ask him what happened Lassiter just kept walking. For three months he fretted over this moment, wondered how it would play out. and now that it had happened he didn't feel any better. In fact he felt much worse. Talking to Shawn was supposed to help solve his problems not make matters worse. Hearing about Shawn being awake should have been a remedy for his sleepless nights and inability to focus. Now he was right back at square one.


	4. Thoughts of a Fool

**Four: Thoughts of a Fool**

Lassiter sat in the armchair in his living room wallowing. He held in his hand a glass of whiskey; which he poured shortly after returning home and had yet to take a sip. He sat there trying not to think about the problems of his life but in the silence of the darkening day there was little else for him to do. Closing his eyes he sighed, running a hand over his face. What the hell was happening to him? Why could he not get passed this portion of his life? There had been a time when matters regarding Shawn had been easy to handle. Ignore him; find ways to get him thrown off a case, and always within the burning desire to prove Shawn as nothing more than a fraud.

Thinking in circles, always thinking in circles. How could he go from hating Shawn to loving him and right back to the hatred? Did it make any sense? Maybe he needed to sit down, have an honest talk with someone. Or, he could just decide to suck it up and take Shawn's resentment for what it was and nothing more. Get on with his life, throw himself back into work and pretend like nothing happened. Could he even be capable of such a thing? Maybe before he fell too far. A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that the trip to the hospital ended up being his downfall. So much time without hearing Shawn's voice, it would have been the perfect first step in a journey to change his feelings regarding the other man.

Simple. Easy. Get rid of the feelings, move on with his life. Return to being the man he used to be.

Life without Shawn.

He finally took a sip of the whiskey. Never going to happen, not in this lifetime. How could he suddenly just stop feeling? Impossible. He could not escape Shawn. When he awoke in the mornings he thought about Shawn lying in the hospital bed. On his drive to work he thought about Shawn on his motorcycle. Every room in the precinct brought up memories of Shawn. At night he dreamed about him. There was no escape. The other man had become so deeply a part of him that there was no going back, only the path laid out before him and it was quickly getting treacherous. Perhaps if he confronted Shawn, forced the younger man to make-up his mind, to say whatever it was he held back, maybe then he could find a way to move forward with ease.

Lassiter let his eyes gloss over the items spread across the coffee table. Some months back they meant absolutely nothing to him, not a damn thing. Now they were important, but for how long? He remembered his surprise upon finding the shoebox in the trashcan at Shawn's apartment before everything began to truly fall apart. News articles. Items that went missing from his desk. Photographs he now understood had been taken by the likes of Gus and O'Hara as well as Shawn himself. All sorts of things that seemed so worthless but to Shawn they had been valuable once. Now they meant something to him.

Suddenly he felt a twinge of an idea forming. Setting the glass of whiskey on the table to his side he leaned forward to pluck a paper-clip necklace from the array of objects. A wistful smile played across his face. A brand new box of paper-clips. He placed them on his desk only to find them missing an hour or two later. He had been down right pissed, angry that someone would tamper with the things on his desk. Leave it up to Shawn to do something so silly, so childish. Carefully Lassiter put the necklace in the box. he began to gather the rest of the items. These were not his belongings, even if Shawn had meant for them to be thrown away. None of it was his anymore.

It belonged to Shawn.

And each item carried its own memory, painful and happy all at the same time. As the last of the light faded from the sky he placed the lid on the box.

* * *

_The next morning…_

"Gus, what a surprise," Shawn beamed, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. For the first time since waking up- a matter of hours ago- he felt good having ditched the unflattering hospital gown in favor of his own clothes. Such a comfort slipping into something he used to wear when things in his life were normal. And now his best friend was standing in the doorway holding a smoothie in one hand. "Is that pineapple?"

Gus smiled. "Like I would bring you anything else."

Shawn took the smoothie and sucked on the straw, a blissful expression on his face.

"Nice to see some things haven't changed," Gus commented.

Shawn chose to ignore the comment having a pretty good idea what Gus was talking about, and not wanting to touch upon the subject. He had not been able to sleep soundly his dreams filled with memories of Lassiter and the treacherous times he spent with Mark. The images shifted so quickly that one minute he was happy and the next he was thrust into hell. He had awakened before the sun even began to show a glimmer of rising, a thin layer of sweat on his body, a pounding in his head. Apparently, according to the doctor, he might suffer a lot of headaches in the coming days and weeks until they began to taper off. What a joy.

When he got the news he was to be discharged he felt happy, having seen enough of the hospital and wanting to feel the sun on his skin, smell the ocean as well as hear the waves crashing on the shore. In the midst of changing he stopped to check the wound to his stomach. Nothing remained save for a neat little scar. A battle wound. It took him a bit of searching but he located the scar created by the bullet to the head, trying desperately not to flashback to that moment. The scar was barely noticeable right along the hairline. In due time he'd probably even forget it was there.

He hoped.

He shuffled after Gus as they left, a bit upset he didn't get to ride out in a wheelchair. "So why are you here instead of my dad? I thought for sure he'd be the one to pick-up me."

"I asked if I could."

"Why?"

"Because you're my best friend, Shawn."

"This has nothing to do with Lassiter?"

"Not a thing."

Shawn stared at him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds waiting for Gus to give 'way his lie. But apparently there was no lie. Lassiter was not waiting outside for them, only Gus' little blue car. Dare he admit he felt a little let down? Where were all his friends? Buzz, Jules, his dad, his mother, Chief Vick? How come none of them had come to the hospital to see him on the day of his release? In fact, as he slipped into the passenger seat he began to feel more and more depressed. None of them had come to visit him since he awakened. He spoke with his father and Gus, of course. The terse, short conversation with Lassiter. A talk with his mother over the phone since she was out of town. So few visitors. Maybe they were planning a party. A surprise party at his apartment.

One way to find out.

"Can you take me to the Psych office?"

Gus quickly glanced in his direction before returning his eyes to the road. "Why?"

"I left my X-Box there. Unless of course my dad took off with it again."

"No," Gus shook his head. "Are you sure you don't want to head back to your apartment?"

"Can you hangout all day?" When Gus shook his head Shawn proceeded. "Then leave me there. I can play games until your done working or my dad swings by. There's food within walking distance and a lovely view of the ocean. The perfect place after being cooped up in the hospital."

Gus seemed to be frowning. "If that's what you want."

It didn't take long for them to get to the office where Shawn instantly felt a bit more depressed. Not a single soul waited for him there. No one to jump out and yell surprise. No streamers or balloons and cake with the frosting he really loved. Not even so much as a chunk of pineapple. The place looked much the same as when he left, perhaps a little neater on Gus' side but what else was new? Gus liked to keep things neat and tidy. Shawn wandered over to the window and gazed out at the world. Was this a mistake, his decision to come here instead of heading home?

No, this is where he wanted to be. Needed to be.

"Are you sure you'll be fine here, Shawn?" Gus inquired from where he stood in the doorway. For some reason Gus seemed reluctant to walk any further into the room. Was it merely Shawn's imagination and nothing more? Gus checked his watch. "I still have to work another two hours but I can come right here when I'm done…"

Shawn ushered him out the door. "I'll be fine," he quickly lied. "Just going to hang out here and play some video games. Don't forget to bring me a treat."

Before climbing behind the wheel Gus gave him one more curious look, then pulled out of the parking lot. Left alone Shawn wandered back into the office, making sure to close and lock the door in his wake. He tried desperately not to let the lacking presence of his friends get to him. Going over to his desk he pulled back the chair with the intent of sitting there when much to his surprise he noted a box resting upon the seat. He knew the box instantly, would never forget it in a million years. Gingerly he plucked it from the chair and set it on the desk top, sinking down. With a trembling hand he pulled off the lid. Everything was as he remembered it. Each item still there with the exception of the pen. Where could it have gotten off to?

At the bottom he found something new. A little golden badge. He knew instantly that it corresponded to the one Lassiter carried around. It was the little badge given to detectives to pass along to a family member like a wife or child. A courtesy badge. He brushed a fingertip across it, the metal cool to the touch. Then something inside of him broke. Quickly he thrust everything back into the box, jammed the lid on tight and ditched it under his desk. With a groan his forehead hit the desk, a mistake as pain shot through his head. But he ignored it.

He did not love Lassiter.

He could not love Lassiter.

And this time he was lying to himself.


	5. All that I Am

I was quite sadden to find my story had been ripped off, but such is the way of life. You know who you are...

**

* * *

Chapter Five: All That I Am  
**

"Are you coming, Shawn?" Gus asked, bending over to look through the open car door.

Shawn shook his head all the while pretending to be reading the magazine he held firmly in his hands. "Nope. Go right on a head. I'll be fine right here. Just keep a window cracked for me, buddy."

Gus frowned at him. "Shawn..." He was about to argue the point but figured it was better not to, closing the driver's side door. With his hands in his pockets he walked across the parking lot.

Magazine forgotten Shawn watched as his friend disappeared inside the all too familiar building. For the last week he had been avoiding the place like some sort of plague. The idea of setting foot inside sent a shiver trickling down his spine. Even now in the safety of the car he felt his heart beat a bit faster. No way in hell was he going in there, not no way, not no how. He refused. Perhaps to some his fear would be considered irrational but he figured those were the same people that had not been through the hardship he faced. So what if he spent months in a comma-like state? Big deal he'd been out of the hospital for a week. None of it mattered to him. The memories of that night were still so fresh in his mind it might as well have happened the day before.

Sleeping...forget sleeping. He kept meaning to run by the pharmacy to see about some sleeping pills. Every time he got within range of the place, though, he recalled the stupid thing he did with the bottle of aspirin. Of all the things he experienced in his life he never thought of himself as the kind of person to attempt suicide. The depth of the human mind was an amazing thing. He felt the pain, the terror at the thought of being unable to outrun Mark and he would turn on his heel, head back to the Psych office.

As he idly flipped through the magazine he began to wonder if perhaps the time had come for him to go on another one of his road trips. Get on his motorcycle and let the road take him where it wanted. It was something he had done more than once. Usually he found some odd job and lived in a hotel for a few weeks before moving onto the next place. Not exactly the best way to live a life but the adventures spoke to him. On the road he could be anyone he wanted for as long as he wanted. Of course, the more he thought about taking a trip the more unsettled he grew. A road trip. He'd taken one quite a few months back. A trip meant to ease the pain in his heart and the questions in his mind. Instead it landed him in the world of Mark Woodson.

And shattered everything he held dear.

No road trips.

"When did you become such a coward?" he grumbled under his breath, tossing the magazine into the backseat of Gus's little blue car. "I can already see the headlines. 'Police Psychic Spooked by Own Shadow'." He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

He had been reduced to nothing.

**********

Lassiter wasn't quite sure what the hell he was doing parked outside the Psych office. The sun already sat low in the sky, another unsuccessful day at work. How he hated to admit to the others but he truly missed Shawn's insight. The man could be annoying, yet he always managed to pick-up on the smallest detail so easily overlooked by everyone else. Yes, it meant that Shawn was forever upstaging him, something that irked him. However, it also meant that more and more bad guys ended up behind bars where they belonged. And usually before they got the chance to hurt anyone else.

Roughly an hour ago he got a personal visit in the precinct from Gus. The last person he actually expected to have a conversation with him. It was one thing for Gus to approach him with Shawn. Lassiter could count on one hand the number of times Gus and him shared a few words without the spastic psychic nearby. So when Gus came to a stop beside his desk he felt a little flutter in his heart. He'd been trying like hell not to think about Shawn for the longest time. He managed to make it to ten minutes, his record.

Gus did not have much to say. What he did say, though, brought Lassiter to his current location. Letting out the breath he'd been holding Lassiter shut off the engine. Gritting his teeth he stepped out of the car. It was now or never. Perhaps he wasn't always sure of how to deal with Shawn and he certainly always ended up questioning his own feelings for the faux psychic. Yet he understood the same way Gus and Mr. Spencer and O'Hara did that for some strange reason Shawn picked him. And he could not let Shawn down. Not again.

He forced the flashback out of his head.

Inside the rented space he found Shawn sitting motionless before a television, a mindless sitcom playing on the screen. He cleared his throat, afraid of frightening Shawn. The two of them hadn't actually exchanged any words since that painful moment in the hospital. For all he knew Shawn would be unhappy to see him, kick him out of the building. For a moment, as his eyes glanced in the direction of Shawn's desk, he thought about the box, the little gift he left inside. He had meant it as a peace offering, a sign of the way he felt. And he sort of expected Shawn to call. Only it never happened.

Shawn turned tired eyes in his direction, not cracking a smile. "Can I help you, detective?"

The tone of his voice, the sight of him, it was enough to make Lassiter cringe. "So Gus was right."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Shawn frowned, shutting off the TV.

"You aren't...you." Lassiter felt awkward saying it. "You sit here in the office all day watching daytime TV or playing video games. You've turned down two cases. Haven't been to see your father. Haven't been poking around the precinct..."

"I thought that last bit would make you happy."

"What is wrong with you, Shawn?" Lassiter was not in the mood to beat around the bush. He came here with a goal in mind and he was not going to back down. Even if it meant driving him further away from Shawn. It needed to be done. There were things that needed to be said, topics to bring into the light. "What are you so afraid of? Patrick is dead. I put a bullet in the bastard. Even went to his funeral to make sure there was no chance in hell he was ever going to hurt you again. So why are you locking yourself away from the world, Shawn?"

"Go away, Lassiter," Shawn mumbled, getting out of the chair and heading toward the bathroom.

Lassiter moved quickly grabbing Shawn by the wrist. He spun him around. "You can either let this destroy your life or you can pick up the pieces and start living again, Shawn. The Shawn Spencer I knew never ran from anything, not even when a serial killer targeted his mother. Come on, Shawn, you're better than this."

Shawn tore his arm free, backing away from Lassiter. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Oh my god, Spencer," he growled, his anger and frustration finally boiling to the surface. "Don't you think that if I could I would not be here now? Dammit. You expect me to just turn around and forget everything? I've got news for you, Spencer, it isn't going to happen. I've tried!" Lassiter had not meant to yell but if it got his intentions through Shawn's thick head then so be it.

"Try harder," was all Shawn said.

"Shawn-"

"This is me," Shawn spat back. "This is who I am, some coward and nothing more. I can't even go back to my fucking apartment. Just the idea of stepping over the threshold..." He shook his head thinking about the failed attempt earlier in the day. "I sleep here," he gestured to the office. "This is my home now. Is that anyway to live me life? No, and I realize that but people change."

"So change, Shawn, get better," Lassiter interrupted.

"I can't!"

"You can, you just don't want to try."

Shawn backed off a step. "Leave me alone, detective. Go back to your life."

"Dammit, Spencer." This was not how he expected things to go. He had wanted for them to talk, for Shawn to show at least a glimmer of the man he used to be. Instead they were arguing. And dare he admit that it hurt like hell to be in this position, to see the man he could not stop thinking about pulling away from him? Suddenly he wished that Shawn had never awakened, that he was still sleeping in the hospital bed, and in a split second the guilt swept in. How could he think such a terrible thing?

"Move on with your life, Carlton," Shawn spoke in a hushed tone, addressing Lassiter by his first name, something he did rarely.

"I'm not leaving, Shawn."

After a moment of silence Shawn took a step forward, then another. "Fine, then I will."

"Why are you pushing me away? I thought this is what you wanted," Lassiter questioned, dying to get through to Shawn any way he could.

Shawn avoided making eye contact with him. "People change. I'm not the kind of person anyone can love now."

As he went to walk around Lassiter with the intent of leaving the office Carlton reached out on reflex, his arm hitting Shawn in the stomach. Instantly Shawn took a step back, sucking in a breath as pain spread through his midsection. Lassiter saw the wince of pain on his face and felt like a completely ass. He should have thought before acting. He tried to apologize but before he could get the words out Shawn stepped around him and was out the door, escaping into the world. Running. Lassiter kept his back to the door, unable to watch, feeling lost in a sea of ever changing emotions. At this rate Shawn was going to drive him crazy.

Finally he let out a shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I can," he whispered in the silent office. "I can, Shawn."


	6. Therapy

A/N: I do apologize for any mistakes up to this point. If I can find the time I will go back and change them. Thanks to a helpful reader I realized that I slipped up with Mark/Patrick. I shall beat it into my brain that Mark was innocent and is not dead....

**

* * *

Chapter Six: Therapy  
**

Shawn sat on the bench with his arms crossed over his chest. He had been in the same spot for the last few hours and had moved very little. Eventually he was going to have to get up, especially judging the loud growl issuing from his empty stomach. But his stubborn determination kept him rooted in place. After cutting short his conversation with Lassiter he walked along the beach for a while deep in thought. He was driving himself crazy. Dare he admit how much he hated how he was acting? The person he had become since meeting Patrick, it pissed him off. Since when did he run from problems with his tail tucked between his legs? Usually he laughed in the face of danger. Actually, not so much laugh but he tended to be a bit oblivious to the dangers of a situation until they came knocking on his door. He always thought his charm and good lucks would get him out of any problem. Now he understood that there were points in his life he had been immensely lucky to get away with his life.

Especially regarding Patrick.

There were moments in his life that he would have gladly taken back, always thought of them as some his dumbest mistakes. They all paled in comparison to falling in love with a man that liked beating people to make himself feel better. Would the guilt of his actions ever leave him alone? There was a lesson to be learned from his troubles with Patrick. Don't fall so head over heels in love with someone until knowing them for who they truly were. His first mistake hadn't been loving Patrick, it had been moving in with the guy after such a short time together. Foolish. He did so many foolish things with his life. Like taking the training his father instilled in him day after day as he a child and passing himself off as a psychic instead of doing something more lucrative with his life. He could have been an amazing cop, followed in his father's footsteps.

And have been miserable. As much as he liked helping catch bad guys being an actual cop had no appeal to him. Too many rules to follow. He wasn't exactly the rule following kind of guy.

His father may have tried to hide it and he may have been a bit more supportive as of late but Shawn knew without a doubt that his father was still disappointed in him. Even Gus got tired of his games. And Lassiter, he tended to rub Lassiter the wrong way most of the time. When he thought back over his 'career' he always saw the way Lassiter grimaced at the sight of him, the frown lines, the anger, the distant. Now he was supposed to believe that all of that had simply faded away in a matter of months? How the hell was he supposed to convince himself that Lassiter actually cared about him and this wasn't some sort of ploy by the detective to get him back to acting goofy and helping out on cases? Not many people would think of Lassiter as conniving but Shawn knew better. He spent so much time studying Lassiter that he knew the man better than both Chief Vick and Jules.

Lassiter killed Patrick.

The thought suddenly popped into his head. It was one of those things he had been toying with ever since learning of it the day he awoke in the hospital. If anyone should take the time to ask him how he felt he would not be able to give them a clear answer. On one hand he was relieved in never having to worry about Patrick coming after him again. He was happy to know that it was Lassiter that brought Patrick to his end and not some stranger. Patrick did not deserve the privilege of living a long life on the run from what he had done in California while harming other people. However, with Patrick dead how the hell was he supposed to stand up to the guy? How could he face down his greatest enemy to find that inner peace everyone in this situation wanted and deserved? He had been deprived of the right to look Patrick in the eyes and declare that he wasn't going to let the man destroy his life.

"But you are," he mumbled. "He's dead and he's still controlling your every move. Way to go, Shawn. Grow a set."

When he spoke to his mother she suggested in a round about way that he might benefit from some therapy. Not exactly his idea of fun. He didn't want to talk about his problems with a stranger. He did not want to bear the very depths of his soul to some person who probably had no clue of what the hell he was dealing with. So what if the person went to school and got some degree. Only people who actually experienced the traumatic event would understand his reservations, his fears, everything that kept him back. Which of course, if he shared that idea with some people they might suggest he get into group therapy. He just was not the therapy type, bless his mother's heart.

A distant rumble of thunder brought him roaring back to the present, pulling him from his thoughts. Suddenly he frowned, angry at himself. He was being foolish. There was nothing to fear. Patrick was dead. He was free to return to his life, to the way things had been before everything began to fall apart. The only person holding him back was himself. If he could just take the first step he would be well on his way to annoying Lassiter and stealing Gus' stuff once again. Gathering his courage he stood, balling his hands into fists. With his jaw clenched he started forward, crossing the street with purpose in his step. He could do this, he could be Patrick. The man was not going to rule his life from beyond the grave. It was time for him to make a stand, to prove to himself that he was his own man, that he was in control once and for all.

He slipped through the door of the brick building smelling the familiar scent. For some reason it always smelled like burned popcorn and he had never wanted to know why. It was just one of those things he eventually put out of his mind, something he grew used to. He started up the stairs, a hand on the railing. It was not until he reached the next landing that he realized he was holding the wall mounted wood so tight his knuckles were white. When he pulled his hand back it surprised him to see it shaking so much. The fear. Always the fear. The closer he drew to his destination the harder it got for him to think straight. His mind kept flashing back to those moments he wanted to forever forget.

And all too soon he was standing before his apartment door.

"You can do this, Shawn," he encouraged, closing his eyes momentarily. On autopilot he reached for his keys secreted away in his back pocket. They silver key slipped so easily into the lock. The door swung open with little effort and there was his apartment, his home, all of his things that he left behind when he ditched Santa Barbara for...No, he was not going to think about that, this was the time to dwell on happier moments. Like having Lassiter hold him in a comforting embrace. The times he had Gus over so they could play video games and eat junk food like they had never grown up. There were definitely more happy moments than sad stuck between the walls.

He took the step over the threshold and spotted the Lego rendition of the office sitting on the coffee table. Gus must have put it there. He actually smiled at the sight of it, going over to gaze at it without even realizing what he was doing. The Lego Gus sat at his desk with an angry expression painted on his features. And there was Lego Shawn standing beside a made to scale cardboard pineapple. Something about the Lego Shawn looked out of place, though. He plucked his little green shirted buddy from the office and his good mood instantly vanished.

There was a red smear over Lego Shawn.

He felt his stomach twisting into a knot. It did not matter in the least that he knew the smear to be nothing more than strawberry jam from his sandwich that day. The smear marred his Lego face and chest. He dropped the Lego Shawn, backing away from the coffee table until his legs hit the couch and he fell onto the cushion. Everything came rushing back in, all the horrors he meant to banish. His hands went to his head as he began to cry, his chest tightening as what he believed to be a panic attack began to gain a foothold. He never should have come here, definitely not alone. But it was too late now. There was no one to drag him out of the hell he had encased himself within.


	7. Here By Me

**Chapter Seven: Here By Me  
**

Hunches weren't normally his thing. He learned a long time ago to go with the flow of evidence. Usually when he jumped to conclusions he ended up being wrong. How many times had Shawn been able to upstage him for that simple reason? So he tended to ignore his hunches for the most part, refused to believe in anything about going with his gut. Some detectives functioned great that way. He liked evidence. Probably because when it came to his gut, instinct, hunches, he usually went with the person that annoyed him the most in the case. He always wanted them to the guilty person so he had an excuse to lock them away, maybe lord over them a bit. It was one of the few pleasures he found in life, catching the snide bad guy that thought it impossible to be caught. And Shawn usually played a big role in things. Going back to police work without Shawn had been..interesting, to say the least.

But that was all besides the point.

As soon as he rolled out of bed in the morning he knew something was going to happen. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he knew with a measure of certainty that eventually something important was going to happen. As the day wore on he got a bit grouchy, yelling not only at Buzz but also snapping at O'Hara. He was testy, on edgy, afraid that whatever waited around the next corner was going to be a horrible thing. When the lunch hour arrived, after receiving a nasty lecture from O'Hara on his attitude, he decided to leave the precinct far behind, go for a little drive. For the most part he thought he was driving around aimlessly waiting for some sort of call to come in. He wanted to be needed, wanted to throw himself into his work and try to find the life he had before Shawn.

So why the hell did he drive to Shawn's apartment building?

He cruised slowly by the first time eyeballing the parking lot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Shawn's motorcycle wasn't anywhere in sight. Yet, he felt compelled to turn around and head by a second time, this time pulling into the lot. When he parked the unmarked police car in one of the empty spots he felt a sense of...well, he wasn't entirely sure what to call it. However, he understood on some level that this was where he was supposed to be, this was the source of his building unease all day. Killing the engine, he slipped out of the car, pocketing the keys. Why this place? Had someone broken into Shawn's apartment? Frowning, somewhat annoyed, he headed into the building. Instantly he wrinkled his nose. The place always smelled funky. One of the reasons he refused to ever live in such a place. He had control of the smells in his house. Living in an apartment building where it always smelled foul he might lose his mind, going 'round banging on doors to find the source of the smell.

Instead he pushed it aside.

He could stand in the same room with a dead body then he could deal with this odor long enough to have a peek at Shawn's apartment. And the smell usually disappeared by the time he reached Shawn's floor anyway.

Upon reaching said floor he froze. Shawn's apartment door was wide open. He felt a flutter of panic, remembering a time some months ago when he arrived to a much similar scene. When he had entered the apartment that time he found Shawn sitting on the floor with a recent cut to his arm. It was at that point in which he began to understand the things Shawn had been through. Somewhat afraid, one of those annoying emotions that seemed to have reared its ugly head since falling in love with Shawn, he crept toward the apartment. Out of habit he placed his hand on the butt of his pistol just incase he needed to draw it for his own safety. For all he knew some lunatic friend of Patrick's was rummaging through Shawn's apartment. He had seen things like that before. Well, if some jackass crook thought he could steal Shawn's property then he had another thing coming, didn't he?

Lassiter's fear shifted to anger. His jaw set. His heart pounding in his chest.

When he finally stepped into the doorway he froze in place. Shawn may not have been aware of it but he had been here a few times while Shawn was in the hospital. He figured no one knew, except for maybe O'Hara. She always seemed to know what he was trying to hide from her. Must be that woman's intuition that they were always claiming to possess. Mostly he kept the place clean, dust free. Didn't want it smelling stale for when Shawn finally came home. He got rid of any perishable food, made sure the trash was empty. He knew Shawn's father kept paying the bills so it was the least he could do to keep the interior actually looking nice. He never snooped through Shawn's thing, though there were times when he wanted to. It wouldn't have been right.

Spending an hour or two in Shawn's apartment brought him some comfort.

He spotted the LEGO office Shawn put together. He had brought it 'round to Shawn's apartment after worrying that Gus might forget about. With Shawn in the hospital Gus spent less and less time at the Psych Office. Someone might break-in, destroy Shawn's hard work. How many times had he sat on the couch with his eyes closed replaying the few times he had been in the office? Shawn definitely brought an interesting spark to his life. The young man was a bit loopy. A little...off-beat. But it was one of his charms.

Lassiter heard a sniffle and stiffened. Moving a little further into the apartment he spotted Shawn sitting before the couch. LEGO Shawn was lying on the table outside the office. Something about the display had clearly upset Shawn. It felt a stable of guilt knowing he was the one responsible for placing in to the apartment. Shawn didn't seem to notice him in the least so for a few minutes he was able to observe the other man. For the longest time while Shawn was gone he was at war with himself. Despite his visits to Shawn's apartment he wanted nothing more than to forget about his feelings. Life had been better when he thought of Shawn as little more than an annoying pest. So much had changed now, though, and he wanted to help Shawn put back together the shattered pieces of his life. He wanted to teach Shawn that it was okay to live again, to smile and laugh, act crazy and get on peoples' nerves.

Without really thinking about it he moved across the room and fell to the floor beside Shawn. Resting with his back against the couch he put an arm around Shawn's shoulders and pulled him close. Much to his surprise Shawn didn't pull away, didn't make even the slightest attempt to run. In fact, he lay his head on Lassiter's shoulder. And it may have been Lassiter's imagination but he could have sworn Shawn scooted a little closer. No, he wasn't going to start thinking about things like that, not here, not now. He was merely comforting Shawn. It was a moment of weakness, Shawn was doing what any normal human being would have done. If he had indeed scooted closer, it meant nothing. But he did hold him a little tighter. He couldn't help it.

He was burning with desire to ask what had happened when his eyes glazed over LEGO Shawn and he saw the red smear. Anger and a bit of disgust washed over him. How could he have been so stupid?


	8. Do You Remember?

**Chapter Eight: Do You Remember?**

"Why are you here?" Shawn finally asked a short time later. The initial wave of anxiety had passed leaving him feeling tired, wary. When Lassiter first walked through the door into his apartment he wasn't quite sure what to think. Then the detective sat on the floor at his side, slipped an arm around his shoulders. It took all of his willpower not to squeal like a little fangirl. How long had he wanted to feel Lassiter embrace him? Even if it wasn't a full embrace it was closer than nothing at all. At Lassiter's touch he instantly thought of their first and only kiss shared that fateful day in the hospital.

What he did not tell anybody is that he thought about it every single day since escaping the hospital.

As the anxiety began to wane his mind began to swim with the images of his time with Patrick. The happy moments quickly blurring and melding with the violent outbursts. That's when he no longer wanted to be anywhere near Lassiter and quickly scrambled to his feet. Now making sure he kept a good distance away from the detective he felt a stirring of emotions in his gut. Old Shawn would have taken advantage of the situation, gone after what he had desired for years. But fear was powerful. Not that he expected Lassiter to ever hurt him, though the detective did have quite the temper. A temper he usually find directed his way. No, probably best to try and ignore the way he felt. After all, nothing would come of his feelings. Lassiter was merely being nice to him. The detective couldn't possibly love him. Not with the way he constantly irritated him.

"I came to see you, Spencer," Lassiter responded. It sounded like a lie to Shawn's ears.

He frowned. "How did you even know I would be here? I mean, this was spur of the moment."

Lassiter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact. "Spencer. Shawn…"

Was Lassiter struggling to find the right words? Since when did the almighty Cartlon Lassiter not know what to say? While he stood there waiting for Lassiter to gather his thoughts he studied the object of his affection. The way his blue tie brought out the blue of his eyes. The slightest hint of gray in his short crop black hair. How many nights had he spent twisting and turning in bed thinking about gazing deep into those eyes, running his hands through that hair? He swallowed, turning his back to Lassiter and leaning against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool drywall.

The minute he did he flashed back to a moment in his relationship with Patrick. A joke at work, the sort of thing he did all the time with Lassiter and Jules, that's how it started. How was he to know it would set Patrick off the way it did? When they got home that night the detective snapped, turned into an entirely different person. Shawn could still feel the bruises and headache associated with being thrown against the wall. For extra measure Patrick had grabbed a fistful of hair and bounced his head off of the wall. By that point he had learned not to protest, not to fight back. It only made Patrick angrier and sometimes it even made the twisted man excited.

"Shawn?"

He whirled around to find Lassiter standing right behind him, the close proximity having a desirable affect. He could smell the slight hint of cologne. See the subtle rise and fall of his chest. A familiar stirring began in his stomach, something he liked to think of as those telltale butterflies. That first time Patrick crossed into his personal space he felt much the same way. Thought that he finally found something real. And if he wasn't careful he was going to end up right back on that road. And though he tried to move, tried to get away he remain stubbornly rooted in place, his two inner halves going to war.

Lassiter must have sensed the inner conflict for he took a step closer leaving only inches between them. Shawn felt like a trapped animal. He kind of liked it, find it a bit thrilling. And somewhat terrifying at the same time. Patrick used to corner him all the time. It was usually the beginning of something terrible, a warning of horrible things to come. How come Lassiter didn't notice his discomfort? Why didn't the detective take a step back, give him a little air to breathe?

"I seem to recall," Lassiter finally spoke, his voice low, "a certain day in which I came to pay you a visit at the hospital. You wanted me to get you out of there. You were angry that they wouldn't let you leave when there was clearly nothing wrong. I tried to get you to shut-up but you just kept right on talking. Do you remember what I did?"

Yeah, he sure as hell did but Shawn kept his mouth closed. He knew that if he tried speaking it would probably come out as little more than a squeak. His heart was racing, though for good or bad he could not determine. Where the hell was this particular conversation headed?

Lassiter leaned a little closer. "Do you remember?"

In the next second Shawn closed his eyes as Lassiter pressed their lips together. For those few seconds the world ceased to exist. All he could feel was the heat rolling off of Lassiter's body, the feel of his lips. At first he fought the urge to kiss back, did not want to betray his inner feelings but it was hopeless. Somehow he managed to keep his hands to himself, though he wanted nothing more than to pull Lassiter closer, to make it more than a kiss. An image flashed through his mind. Flesh against flesh. He was starting to feel hot. Why wasn't Lassiter touching him?

And then the detective broke their contact, pulled away. Without saying anything he turned and headed out of the apartment, the door closing quietly behind him. Shawn stared at the solid piece of wood hoping and praying that Lassiter would come waltzing back in. But it didn't happen. He slid down the wall, landing on the carpet where he drew his knees up to his chest. Hugging them close he rested his forehead on his knees, trying to catch his breath. A tear trickled slowly down his cheek. How could this be happening?

Why couldn't Lassiter just leave him alone?

Why couldn't he just get over what happened and allow him to be loved?


	9. One Step Closer

**Chapter Nine: One Step Closer  
**

It took a lot for him to block out the kiss as he parked the unmarked patrol car along the curb. What the hell had he been thinking? How foolish of him to think that such a simple, yet so important gesture would be enough to solve the problem. Like Shawn would do a complete turn around with the touch of his lips. What the hell did he think this was, some sort of fucking fairytale with clouds of butterflies and shimmering rainbows? He slammed the car door making a nearby officer jump. His anger at himself was threatening to gain a decent foothold and ruin the rest of his day unless he managed to rein it in. Anger. Why did it seem like it always came back to anger with him? Maybe he should look into taking a few anger management classes, might help him to figure out why he always felt so pissed off at the world.

Stopping near the front of the car he closed his eyes, exhaled, and tried to relax. Instead all he saw was Shawn pressed up against the wall, that look in his eyes. His shoulders slumped. Had that been a millisecond of fear as he cornered the younger man or had he merely misinterpreted something else? He realized that thinking about the situation only served to make his anger worse. He hated when he could not make sense of things, figure out heads or tails. Frustrated, he ducked under the crime scene tape and finally started to get to work. Having a look around at the once serene house wrapped in chaos he tried to figure out where he could locate his partner. The uniformed officers were no help since they were sweeping the perimeter for evidence as well as keeping back the small cluster of lookie-loos.

Always with the curious bystanders.

The front door of the house stood open to the world, oddly inviting. He headed in that direction, instantly hit with the smell of decomp as he crossed the threshold. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. No matter the amount of crime scenes he never planned on getting used to that smell. It was most vile. Thankful he skipped lunch to check on Shawn he wandered around the house letting his nose lead the way. Not to mention he could hear O'Hara talking with someone in a room upstairs. When he located her in a back bedroom, trying his best not to gag, he found here standing with Officer McNabb. It may have been his imagination but the two of them seemed to be discussing a recent movie instead of doing their jobs. How could they stand there like everything was perfectly normal when there was a decomposing body sprawled across the bed? What was wrong with them? Was he as jaded?

"Carlton," O'Hara said when she spotted him. Instantly Buzz peeled away, slipping out of the bedroom door and disappearing in the bowels of the house. "Our victim appears to have been dead for a few days-"

"No shit," he muttered.

She continued talking as though he had not said a single word. "-and that fits with reports from the neighbors. Nobody can recall having seen Ms. Alora Crumbles since the weekend. They only called because of the smell. Someone figured it was rotting trash and came 'round to have a look. They knocked and when they got no answer decided it best to call the cops."

"Any idea how she died?" He glanced quickly at the remains of the woman, then looked away. Why had he picked this as his profession? He could have done anything with his life and yet he picked hanging around dead bodies. Then again, without his role as a homicide detective he never would have had the chance to meet Shawn. His life would be completely different. Would that make him happier? Angrier?

"Carlton?"

When he looked at O'Hara he registered the questioning look on her face. Apparently she had been talking and he failed to hear a word. He needed to get his head out of the clouds, focus on the job at hand. But he really wasn't feeling up to it. Ever since the issues with Shawn popped up he found it harder and harder to focus on his job. Probably because he was waiting for that moment when Shawn would pop through the door with some crazy notion while doing some of the wackiest motions. Hell, he even missed Gus.

"Carlton, is something wrong?" She had moved closer, put a hand on his arm. "You don't look so well."

"Why can't he just love me?" he blurted out without taking even a second to think. The very second the words were out of his mouth he wanted to take them back. He didn't say things like that, ever. He wasn't that kind of person. And even more distressing he felt the heat of blush on his cheeks. Since when did he blush? O'Hara gave him an understanding smile, then much to his surprise she gave him a hug. Nothing more than a quick embrace but a hug none-the-less. At least there was some small consolation that nobody else had heard him. He would have been the laughing stock of the precinct. Nobody made him the butt of jokes.

Aside from Shawn.

Always with Shawn.

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth.

"He'll come around, Carlton," O'Hara assured him with one of her mega-watt smiles. "Trust me, it may take a little time but before you know he'll be proclaiming to speak with the dead again."

"I stopped by his apartment," he opted to say, knowing that he could trust her with his secrets. She was the perfect friend. Why was he just seeing that now? Sure he felt close to her but that came with the territory of having her as his partner. Now he started seeing her in a whole new light. She was his friend, always waiting for him to give her the opportunity to offer advice or a kind ear to listen. He really should make a habit of being nicer to her. Being nicer to everyone.

"Oh? How did that go?" she inquired. "Is he taking that first step and moving back?"

He frowned. "Honestly, I have no clue."

"You didn't ask?" Her eyebrows raised in question.

"Well, no, there wasn't exactly time for-"

"What could the two of you have been doing," she started off, then shook her head. "Never mind, don't answer that."

This time he actually smiled. "It was nothing more than a kiss. I swear."

"A kiss, huh? How many does that make now?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know."

She started walking around the room, arms crossed over her chest. "A kiss."

"O'Hara..."

A smile broke out on her face. "It's a step in the right direction, Carlton. One step closer."

* * *

It wasn't until a few hours later that he finally came 'round to believing the words she spoke. Somehow he managed to chase Shawn out of his mind long enough to do a decent amount of work. He gathered the necessary information on the victim, learned a great deal about her life and who might have had it in for her. He was still waiting for the coroner's preliminary report to give him an idea of how she died. The man had said the body was too far gone to tell just by glancing. Perhaps when he arrived at the precinct the next day he would find what he needed to help steer the case in the proper direction. Every case he managed to close without the help of Shawn left him feeling better about himself. There was something to be said about his ego.

Anger and ego.

A deadly combination.

He was shutting off his computer when his cell phone rang. He grumbled under his breath praying and hoping that it wasn't a call to another scene. With some surprise he saw that it was Shawn. Instantly his heart began to beat faster, his palms grew sweaty and he nearly dropped the trilling phone. He was nothing more than a school boy in love. How mildly irritating. Finally he managed to get the phone open, hit the right button and listened with baited breath as Shawn requested that he swing by the apartment. When he hung up the phone he gazed at it, his mind racing with a million questions and possibilities. What could Shawn possibly want with him now?

He wasted no time in driving to the apartment, taking the stairs two at a time.

Much to his surprise he found Shawn waiting in the open door. And in that instant he wanted to go back to the earlier hour of the day when they shared the kiss. It was all he could do to stand in the hall with his arms at his side. "You called?"

Shawn grabbed him the arm and pulled him into the apartment, then closed the door. "Stay here tonight."

Lassiter did little to hide his surprise. "Excuse me?"

Oddly Shawn kept his distance. "I want you to stay. Please. I..."

"Shawn..."

"I want to stay here tonight but I'm afraid to do it alone," Shawn said so quickly that the words ran together. It took Lassiter a moment or two to figure out exactly what Shawn had said, then he relaxed, smiling for a second.

"Of course. Do you have an extra blanket and pillow?" He inquired. Upon noting the questioning expression on Shawn's face he elaborated further. "So that I can make myself comfortable on the couch."

It was another minute before Shawn spoke. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." He wanted nothing more than to say 'no' but he understood on some level how delicate the situation was and he didn't want to take anymore steps back. He wanted to move forward. Sometimes that meant doing things he would rather not. Not to mentio, he was not exactly sure he was ready for _that step_. "I think it would be for the best."

"....okay."

He tried not to lose it when Shawn disappeared to retrieve the required items. What the hell was he doing? Had he completely lost his mind? And why had Shawn called him? It would have been so much easier for him to call his father or Gus, even O'Hara. It definitely made more sense to him but then again, he found very little made sense when it came to Shawn. While he waited he slipped out of his shoes, tossed his tie and suit jacket on the coffee table along with his badge and gun. On second thought he squirreled away the pistol under the sofa cushion. No point in leaving it out for Shawn to stumble upon. One suicide attempt was enough. He was starting to feel a tad uncomfortable. He had never been so casual in Shawn's apartment. It felt....strange. He eyed the door.

But before he could make any move toward it Shawn returned. Lassiter took the pillow and the blanket, placing them on the sofa while Shawn stood quietly by. There seemed to be something that Shawn wanted to say, yet obviously did not have the courage to bring forth. Lassiter opted to let it be. There was more than enough to deal with as it was, why make matters even more complicated? Finally Shawn took a few steps back toward the hallway.

Lassiter sat on the couch.

"Good night," Shawn spoke, his voice hushed.

"Night, Shawn."

Darkness quickly embraced the apartment as both of them settled in for a long night. Lassiter tried his best to get comfortable on the couch all the while thinking about his bed back at his house. It wasn't until a half an hour had passed before he realized what exactly had happen. O'Hara had been right. The kiss earlier in the day had been a step in the right direction, one step closer. Shawn was at the moment trying to overcome the fear of sleeping in his own apartment, taking that first step.


	10. Come Back To Me

**Chapter Ten: Come Back To Me**

"Oh my..." The words died on Gus' lips as he gazed around the office. He could not believe what he was seeing. It had nothing to do with the fact that it appeared Shawn actually cleaned the office- okay, it had a lot to do with that- but what Shawn had done afterward. His friend went a little overboard this time when he broke out the Legos. Making a replica of the office didn't seem strange when it came to Shawn. Should he really be all that surprised to see the other places? Definitely. Building Lego replicas of his father's house, Gus' place, even Lassiter's house was a sure sign that the old Shawn was starting to come out of the dark. However, seeing all the Lego places...

Shawn looked up from his current project, a replication of the precinct. "Gus, what are you doing here? Don't you have samples to be passing around?"

"I got a call about a possible break-in," Gus said slightly breathless as he admired the details of his place. How did Shawn manage to do it, he wondered. And where the hell had all the Legos come from? "May I inquire as to why you feel the need to redo all of Santa Barbara in Lego form?"

The question made Shawn's face light up. "What a great idea, buddy. I was planning on doing places I know by heart but it would be much cooler to do the entire city."

"Shawn..." He was kidding, right?

Like the cat that ate the canary Shawn grinned. To see the smile plastered on his friend's face Gus felt a twinge of panic. What the hell was going on? What happened to the dark and dreary Shawn? Not that he wasn't happy to see glimpses of his old friend but the idea that Shawn did a complete turn around scared him. Nobody did that, it was just not normal. Perhaps enough time in familiar surroundings with people who loved him was finally paying off, finally showing him that it was okay to let things be the way that they were. Though he did not doubt for one second that what happened with that dirtbag permanently changed Shawn.

Suddenly the police scanner in the corner, something Gus picked up a long time ago and something they ended up rarely using, squawked to life. He thought about walking over to shut it off when he noticed that Shawn was actually listening with- what his eyes may have deceived him- as a glimmer of mischievousness. A look he usually associated with Shawn thinking hard of ways to ruin Lassiter's day. Could it possibly mean...

"Come, Robin," Shawn suddenly declared after the message ended, "away to the Batmobile, there is evil afoot."

Before Gus could even process the words Shawn was out the door and pulling open the door to the little blue car. What the hell had he missed? Since when did Shawn want to go checking out crime scenes? How could he have gone from being afraid of his own apartment to gazing at bloodied bodies? It made absolutely no sense to Gus. And then it finally dawned on him what Shawn said. With a frown etched on his face he left the office and joined Shawn in the car. As he slid the key into the ignition he asked one simple question.

"Why do I have to be Robin?"

* * *

They arrived at the scene shortly thereafter. On the ride over Shawn explained the logic behind Gus being Robin. Even though Batman was cooler he had to deal with the fact that he was truly the sidekick. Of course, being called a sidekick sent Gus on a lecture about sidekicks and all they did. He did not want to be a sidekick, why couldn't they be equal? This made Shawn point out that Robin had been played by Chris O'Donnell in the movie and that now Chris was kicking ass a Federal Agent on "NCIS LA". It meant that Gus could only go up the ladder from his position as sidekick. About half way through the conversation Gus stopped following Shawn-logic.

He spent more time dwelling on the fact that they were actually driving toward a crime scene. It made very little sense to him, at least for the current moment. Back before the incident it would have been like any other day. He worried about Shawn's reaction to the scene, the chaos of all the cops and the blood. Cops and blood, two things that could bring terrible images to Shawn. He kept thinking about turning the car around or pulling over on the side of the road and refusing to go any further. Shawn was his best friend, it was his job to keep an eye on him. And yet he kept driving until they arrived at the scene.

And now they were walking up the brick walkway to the open front door. He could already hear Lassiter talking inside, giving directions- more like orders- to a uniformed officer. Same old, same old. He nodded at Buzz as they passed noticing the surprised look on Buzz's face at the sight of them. At least he had not missed some pivotal moment. That had been a fear of his, that he missed the moment when Shawn decided to be Shawn again.

They were almost to the center of the chaos when Shawn suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

_Here it comes,_ Gus thought. Exactly what 'it' was he had no clue.

Before he could say anything Shawn turned and left, breezed right by him and out the door. He felt a bit deflated, saddened that Shawn gave in when he was so close to reconquering another piece of his life. He spent perhaps a minute entertaining the thought of going after his friend when a better idea popped into his head. Continuing into the house he located Lassiter and Jules standing in the kitchen, a body shrouded in a bloodied sheet. They looked up as he entered the room.

"Gus," Jules smiled, always happy to see him. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Where's Shawn?"

"Outside," Gus gestured with his thumb. "By the way, allow me to point out first that it was his idea we come here. But I don't think he-"

He never got a chance to finish what he was going to say. Lassiter brushed him aside as he beat a hasty retreat for the front door. Jules merely shrugged, then started telling Gus what she knew about the crime.

* * *

Lassiter located Shawn near across the street idly kicking at a rock, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes downcast. At the mention of Shawn being at the crime scene he could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat. It used to drive him crazy when Shawn came prancing into his crime scenes and started acting weird. He actually reached a point where he did not miss the interruption, the scramble to get as much information as he could before Shawn arrived. He figured that feeling lasted all of two or three days. It may have been at that moment that he realized what Shawn meant to him on a subconscious level. Mainly because he still had no clue how Shawn felt about him back then seeing as it was before O'Hara and the others told him the truth. Now, though, now he longed desperately to have Shawn there, to see him acting like a complete loon.

"Shawn-"

"I can't do it," he blurted out, not looking at Lassiter. "I thought after the way things went last night that I could do this, that I could be _me_ again. But being here, knowing what is waiting for me, I can't do it. What the hell was I thinking? How could I be so stupid?"

"You aren't stupid, Spencer," Lassiter grumbled. He hadn't meant to sound angry but it came out that way. He worried about how Shawn might react.

Shawn's shoulders slumped. When he looked up at Lassiter there was the sparkle of unshed tears in his eyes. "I can't be me. Why can't I find me? I've lost myself."

The words struck a cord with Lassiter. In that moment he no longer cared about the others. For some foolish reason he had been worrying about his co-workers, what they might think of him if he confessed aloud his feelings for Shawn. But none of it mattered anymore. It broke his heart, tore him up inside to see Shawn looking so lost, so utterly defeated. Not caring if the officers at the crime scene saw him he walked over to Shawn, placing his hands to either side of Shawn's face and gazed into his eyes.

"I can't save you, Shawn," he said. "You have to do that yourself. But I'm not going anywhere. While you're lost, I am going to be right here with you. And when you finally find yourself, I will be here waiting." He gave him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling him into an embrace. "Just come back to me, Shawn."


	11. Call Your Name

**Chapter Eleven: Call Your Name  
**

"Shawn?" Lassiter called as he stumbled out of the darkened bedroom. He ran a hand over his eyes to chase away the fog of sleep. Standing at the top of the stairs he grabbed hold of the railing and listened. The house was quiet. Too quiet. With the exception of the refrigeratoring humming in the kitchen. He saw a soft glow coming from a light left on in the living room and decided that maybe he would find Shawn there. As he made his way down the stairs they creaked with each step. At the bottom landing he checked the front door out of habit to make sure it was still firmly locked. It was. At least there was some peace of mind knowing Shawn hadn't slipped out. He hadn't given the younger man a key to his place. Then again, knowing Shawn he could have snatched Lassiter's keys and had one made at any time. The old crazy Shawn did things like that to get under his skin.

And it always worked.

"Shawn?" He stepped into the living room hoping to find Shawn sitting on the sofa. Instead the room was empty, the glow of the lamp soft in the otherwise harsh darkness. Lassiter began to feel a slight bit panicked. Where the hell had Shawn gotten off to now? Keeping track of him was beginning to turn into a full time job. One that he was not entirely sure he enjoyed. Unsure of where else to look he stood there, listening, thinking.

After the incident at the crime scene he dragged Shawn back to the precinct where he made him wait around until the end of shift. In that last hour of work he thought about going back to Shawn's apartment, spending another night on the couch. Then decided it might be best if they went back to his place. His house had more room and if in the long run things should...Lassiter frowned. He was not going to think about that, along those lines. He couldn't even keep track of Shawn never mind figure out how the other guy felt about him. Or even how he felt. The whole situation was getting too damn confusing. At some point the two of them were going to have to sit down and have a proper conversation. For all he knew Shawn no longer felt for him the way he had, so much had changed over the last few months.

Letting out a deep sigh he turned to head back up the stairs when a light out back caught his attention. Walking to the backdoor he peeked out to find Shawn sitting on one of the deck chairs. A small wave of relief passed over him. For some reason he found comfort in knowing Shawn had not run away. Getting him to the house had been a bit of an issue to begin with, what with having to convince him that he wasn't chickening out if he stayed one night in some else's place. Tomorrow night, Lassiter suddenly decided as he opened the back door, he would spend another night on the couch. If it meant helping Shawn to find his way back then he was all too willing to be of help. He may not be able to save Shawn but that didn't mean leaving him out in the dark, cold and alone.

"So this is where you ran off to," Lassiter said as he stood there, arms crossed over his chest. There was a slight nip in the air, a clear sign that fall was not too far off.

"Couldn't sleep," Shawn replied, not looking in Lassiter's direction. "My mind..." He frowned, shaking his head. "It won't shut up. Won't stop. I keep thinking myself in circles. And when I'm not doing that I'm yelling at myself for being such a coward."

"You're not a coward."

"Easy for you to say," Shawn grumbled.

Lassiter did his best not to get angry, biting his bottom lip. Sometimes dealing with Shawn made him think that this is what it must be like dealing with a child. "You're still sitting there, aren't you? Unless my eyes deceive me you are still part of this world, you are still fighting what that asshole did to you. How does that make you a coward?"

Shawn stood, tears in his eyes, anger in his words. "Do you not recall me trying to take my own life? That's weakness."

"But aren't dead, Shawn."

"Sometimes I wish I was," shot back Shawn.

The words surprised Lassiter. "You don't mean that, what a foolish thing to say."

"Oh, so now I'm foolish?"

"That's not what I meant and you know, Spencer," grumbled Lassiter feeling his patience drawing thin. When he'd gotten up to look for Shawn, checking the guest bedroom to find it empty, he had not expected to get into a fight. It sort of seemed to happen. And he wanted it to stop. He didn't want to do that, they'd fought enough over the years to last them a lifetime. Acting on a spur of the moment thought he grabbed, perhaps a tad rougher than he initially meant to, Shawn by the upper arms. Pulled him close and brought his lips to Shawn's. For that first second it was like he was there alone, then he felt Shawn respond, felt Shawn melt into him. Dare he admit that he enjoyed the taste of Shawn on his lips?

Shawn began to push at him a few seconds into the kiss, wanting to break free from the embrace. Against the wishes of his heart Lassiter let him go knowing it would only cause further troubles if he kept holding tight. That's all he wanted to do. Hold him tight and never let go. The stark realization of that feeling caught Lassiter off guard, surprised him. And yet, for the first time he did not feel ashamed or as though he should turn away. He was finally coming to terms with the way he felt, with the simple fact that he loved Shawn.

They stood in silence, Shawn with his back to Lassiter. It may have been Lassiter's imagination but it seemed like Shawn was trying to hide the fact that he was crying. He felt his heart breaking all over again.

"Shawn..."

"This is never going to work."

"What makes you say that?"

Shawn sort of scoffed-laughed. "Every time we talk, we argue. I've already been down this road once..."

It didn't take an idiot to figure out what Shawn was talking about. Lassiter winced in pain, though, as it hurt to have Shawn think he capable of something so...wrong. He walked up behind Shawn, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and placed a hand on his stomach, pulling him back.

"The difference is that my heated words are spoken with love," he said. He felt Shawn relaxing against him. "I love you, Shawn Spencer," he whispered in his ear. "I love you."


	12. Addicted

Should my Psych crossover be the third story in this series or an entirely new story? What do you think?

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Addicted**

He sipped through the straw, the delicious pineapple taste making his tastebuds sing. He took another sip, drank a little deeper than the first time. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste, never wanting it to end. He had been doing a lot of thinking after the events of the day before, trying to make sense of where he was in his life, if he could manage to take the next step forward or if he would forever be stuck in a place of terror. He had wanted so terribly to enter the crime scene, to have his life be the way it had been before, but even after his talk with Lassiter there was no way he could muster the courage to take the step. At least he kept from feeling like a total failure by having Lassiter reassure him. Who ever would have seen that one coming, he wondered. Nobody. Least of all him. Never in a million years did he ever expect to gain the affection of the one man he truly loved.

Shame it took nearly losing him for Lassiter to see the truth.

Why did the universe have to be so damn cruel?

He took another sip of the pineapple smoothie. One step at a time, his new motto, the first thing he said to himself when he woke up every morning and looked in the morning. Of course, it was quite a shock to his system this morning when he was saying it in Lassiter's bathroom mirror instead of the one back at his apartment. The simple thought of it stirred a warmth in the pit of his stomach. It had been a completely innocent night, just the two of them. He hadn't been able to sleep, wandering out to the porch. When Lassiter found him he had been doing a lot of thinking, about ending the relationship before it started, about the direction his life was headed. And then those blessed words.

_I love you, Shawn Spencer._

Thinking about it now sent a chill down his spine, a good chill that almost made him giggle like a school girl. Had he ever giggled like a school girl? He vaguely remembered Gus accusing him of that once, though he could not recall actually having done it. But that was something else to ponder over later.

When he awoke that morning in Lassiter's bed he had been alone, the detective already having left for work. He had laid there, afraid to move out of fear it was nothing more than some twisted dream meant to torture him. Eventually the need to use the bathroom drove him from the comfort of the blankets. He spent the morning in a bit of a fog, wandering around Lassiter's house knowing he could do it without getting in trouble. This time he hadn't broken in but been invited. And he loved it, loved running his fingers along the spines of the books on Lassiter's shelves. Peering into the fridge and freezer to see what sorts of things the man kept in his house, the foods he liked to dine on the most. He even checked out the movie selection and saw that there were a few of his favorite movies mixed in with a few he figured would be boring. Lassiter still had his stuffy side, the side of the detective he always thought of as boring. And yet, a little more here and there he found himself falling in love with that part of Lassiter, too.

_Why do you keep referring to him as Lassiter?_ the thought crossed his mind as he was looking into the freakishly clean garage. If Lassiter- strike that, Carlton- could manage to call him by his first name, it was the least he could do to call him Carlton. Though he had to admit, he liked the sound of Lassiter better, it rolled off the tongue.

Of course, his snooping around Lassiter's place happened almost two hours. Once he got bored with the silence, a half of flipping channels, and rearranging the fridge, he struck out for the Psych office. He wanted to eventually get the business back up and running. He felt that maybe if he got himself a decent case he would be able to set his feet on the right path, work his way out of the darkness. If the world wanted to push at him then he was going to have to just push back. When he arrived at the office he found a note from Gus dangling down from the entryway, a sure fire way to get him to notice it. Apparently Gus would be gone all day with his samples trying to drum-up more business for the pharmaceutical company. Fine by him, he understood.

But the first hour went by with no one stopping by.

So he ventured out to get the pineapple smoothie and had been sitting at his desk for the last five minutes. He couldn't keep his mind on the idea of work. All he kept thinking about was the way Lassiter said those words, the way he whispered them in his ear, the way his breath tickled the skin.

"Shawn?"

He startled, nearly knocking over his smoothie as he sat bolt up right in his chair, eyes flashing open. His father stood in the doorway, a hand on the frame. As usual he looked dressed for a day out fishing so what had brought him by the office?

"What can I do for you, dad?"

He watched his father take a step into the office, having a look around at the place. "Been a while, it seems," he mused. Why did it seem like he was trying to avoid whatever was weighing on his mind?

"Dad..."

"How are you doing, Shawn?"

"Fine..." Where was this going? Had his father heard about his little freak out? Were they about to have one of their father-son talks? He did not want to get all touchy with his father, didn't feel like sharing what happened the night before, after all, it was a private matter. And he already knew that his father was fine with him pursuing his desire to make Lassiter his forever more. "Is there something on your mind?"

Henry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well."

"Come on, out with it, since when are you shy?"

"I'm not shy," Henry frowned, his voice alerting to the fact he was a bit ticked off by such a notion. "I heard about your little...set back yesterday-"

"Don't you-"

"I have a job for you, Shawn," Henry finally said. "Only problem is, I'm not sure you want it or if you're even ready for it."

He sat there silently staring at his father, his mind working at a feverish pace. A job. An actual job. For him. Hadn't that been his reasoning for coming down to the office to begin with, to get a job? But did he really want to take on something? What if he agreed to take the job and later found himself incapable of following through on his promise? _What if you don't take the job?_ That nagging little thought forced him to frown, to break eye contact with his father. If he did not take the job he would be in the exact same position he was now. Stuck. Still trying desperately to escape the darkness only to feel himself being pulled back in.

And what about Lassiter?

He knew the detective pretty well, at least he liked to think he did. No way in hell was Lassiter going to stick around forever waiting for him to get things back together. No, despite all the nice things Lassiter said to him he understood, knew the detective would get tired, annoyed with his behavior. He had to get back to himself, to some resemble of a sane person. _Have you ever been sane? Sane people don't run around pretending to have visions. Unless they're in a movie. This isn't a movie._

Shawn smiled, pushing back his chair, ignoring his own inner struggle. He was going to push at the darkness in search of the light. "I'll do it."

"Are you sure?" Henry gave him a sceptical look.

"Er...what exactly will I be doing?"


	13. String of Lies

**Chapter Thirteen: String of Lies**

Shawn looked at the scene, an eyebrow raised in question. How the hell had he let his father talk him into this? It did not make a single lick of sense to him. What did his father have that Lassiter did not? He could probably spend hours musing on the answer. But he knew that both of them meant to keep him safe, to protect him, even though they both went about it in different ways. Sometimes, perhaps far too often, he wondered whether or not his father cared about him. There were unspoken things between them, mainly his decision not to be a cop but instead to play at being a psychic. At least he still got to use the techniques his father schooled him on. And yet, here he stood in the middle of a crime scene with his father and Lassiter nowhere in sight. What the hell was going through his mind? And where exactly was Lassiter? Or even O'Hara for the matter?

He saw neither detective, finding it weird that he should be here without them. They dealt with the vast majority of the murder cases in Santa Barbara. Could it be that they were too busy to bother with coming to this particular scene, did Chief Vick have them doing something else? As he looked around he began to feel a little unsettled. Then he spotted Buzz standing off to the side talking to another uniformed officer. One familiar face was all it took to help put him at ease. And then, much to his surprse, someone clapped him on the shoulder, and he nearly jumped clear out of his skin. Turning to have a look his eyes opened wide. Today was just one of those days full of moments to catch him off guard.

"Mark."

"Hey Shawn," the detective greeted him, removing his hand from Shawn's shoulder.

Last time Shawn had seen the detective they had both been in the hospital. Both of them healing from gunshot wounds that could easily have been fatal. He met the detective when he left home, an attempt to escape the feelings he could no longer live with when it came to Lassiter. It was supposed to be a break from reality, instead he fell in love with the wrong detective. The only bright side to the whole ordeal had been Mark. During his troubles he knew he could turn to Mark, the detective knowing full well that his partner was not a good man, and yet not going so far as to make it known to their superiors. Still, Mark had done his best to help when possible and for that Shawn was still grateful.

"What are you doing here?" Shawn felt inclined to ask.

"Working this case," he explained, gesturing to the scene around them. "It has a connection to one back in home so...your chief is letting me have a go at it on my own. Thought you might be able to help."

Shawn looked from his father to Mark. What the hell, now they were working together? Until that moment he had not been aware that his father even knew Mark, aside from having learned about the detective from police reports. He had a sneaking suspicion that the chief and O'Hara made sure to fill his father in on every single little detail they possibly could, not wanting to leave the man out in the cold while his son lay in a hospital bed on the edge of death. Still, he felt it rather weird to be seeing the two of them together. And then for some reason he imagined Lassiter joining their little group. Now that would have made for an interesting day. They could spend hours discussing the many annoying things he did and how they chose to deal with him.

Perhaps not the best idea after all.

"Okay, let me have a look around," Shawn suggested, turning his back on them. Standing there with them watching made him nervous. What if he suddenly found himself unable to get the job done? All those nagging little self doubts began to creep in. He recalled his earlier failed attempt to set foot within range of the crime scene. He closed his eyes, let out a slow, measured sigh, and steadied his mind. He could do this, he would not fail. Not this time, no, he was going to do this and then he would have a victory story to share with Lassiter later in the evening. Yes, he felt himself smile, how wonderful it would be to share in this excitement with the man he loved. He could already see how proud Lassiter would be when he told him.

Slowly walking around the room, he quicky took in minute details about the victim and the living situation. He began to piece together a story that he could claim to have seen psychically when something caught his attention. It had absolutely nothing to do with the naked body lying on the floor. Or the blood splattered on the wall. No, it was something else entirely. Then it suddenly dawned on him and he frowned, feeling the building anger in the pit of his stomach. How could he have been so foolish? He quickly glanced as his father, at Mark, the two of them talking about something. It irked him to think that they thought of him as some sort of idiot. Did they think they could pull the wool over his eyes?

Hands clenched into fists he stalked toward the front door of the house wanting nothing more than to beat a hasty retreat. He felt pissed, stormed right by them without saying a single word, without sparing them a second glance. He ventured out into the warm sun and leaned against his father's truck. Mere seconds later both his father and Mark came out of the house.

"Something wrong, Shawn?" Mark asked.

"Do I look like a fool?" he growled.

"What-"

"The scene is staged," Shawn spoke. "You set this whole thing up. The person on the floor makes a good dead body but last time I checked the dead didn't breathe. And the blood was too red, amongst other things."

"Shawn," his father started, "I only did this to prove a point."

"And what point would that be?"

"That you can do it," Henry responded, pointing toward the house with the faked crime scene. "If you put your mind to it, you can do what you've been doing for the last few years. The only person holding you back is you."

"You know what makes me mad?" Shawn said, ignoring his father for the time being. "That you" he pointed at Mark, "were in on this."

"I just wanted to help, Shawn."

"Why? Because you feel responsible?" Shawn was on the verge of yelling.

"In a way, yes," Mark began to explain.

Shawn was quick to cut him off. "And this is how you try to make it better?"

"Shawn," his father's voice was tense.

Shawn brushed them off, annoyed, angered, and began to walk away from the scene. His father called after him but he didn't care, ignoring his old man. Let them stand there and feel like the fools that they were. He wanted to get the hell away from them, away from this place. He was trying to think of the reason why he even bothered to return to Santa Barbara in the first place. Because of Lassiter. And how were things going with Lassiter, hm? The man he loved more than anything in the world. He hadn't shared it with anyone, had been hiding it even from himself, but he could see the strain his current state of mind was causing Lassiter. The detective was a take charge kind of guy, get the job done, not the type to coddle the weak. If things kept going the way they were, he'd be pushing Lassiter out of his life in a matter of days. And then what would he have?

"Nothing," he grumbled. "Absolutely nothing."


	14. Why

**Chapter Fourteen: Why**

"You did what?" Lassiter was on the verge of shouting. Some how he managed to keep his voice on an even level, his anger forcing him to ball his hands into fists. He wanted nothing more than reach out, take hold of the man standing before him and give him a good, firm shaking. Yet he knew that it would only mean more trouble in the long run, the sort of trouble he would rather just skirt around. "How could you have been so stupid?"

"Watch your tone, detective," growled Henry, his eyes narrowing.

Lassiter glared at him, his mind racing a mile a minute. How could Shawn's father have been so stupid, done something so completely and utterly foolish? When the former detective came into the precinct roughly ten minutes ago he thought they might have a lovely chat or that perhaps Henry had come to speak with Chief Vick about something. The two of them had some sort of past friendship the others could only guess at. But Henry asked him to step outside, said that there was something he needed to tell him. And of course, with those few words his mind began to formulate all sorts of horrible things. Every single one of them having to do with Shawn. There used to be a time in his life when dealing with Shawn annoyed him. Now he nearly had a heart attack every time someone brought up bad news, always afraid it would have something to do with the man who had most definitely stolen his heart.

As Henry began to explain what he had done, the idea he cooked up with the help of Mark- hearing the other detective's name caused Lassiter to flinch- Lassiter's anger started to churn, to boil. He could not believe that they thought it perfectly okay to cook up some fake crime scene and drag Shawn out there hoping to get him back into the swing of things. He may not have been the most thoughtful, compassionate person but even he saw the stupidity in their plan. He used to think Henry was a smart man, now he found himself reconsidering that notion.

"Did you honestly think it would work?" Lassiter asked. "And Buzz, you had to use Buzz. Does Chief Vick even know you did that?"

"I wanted to help my son," Henry answered. "Last time I checked that wasn't a crime, Detective Lassiter."

Lassiter merely shook his head in disbelief. "You could have at least asked me to be there. Correct me if I am wrong but did you not come to me in the first place? Was I not the one you sought out when Shawn returned and wouldn't talk to anyone? Here I am trying to get him to trust me, get him back to himself the best way I know how and you pull a stunt like this..."

"We wouldn't be in this mess if you would learn to control your anger," Henry shot back. "Shawn never would have left and met with that Patrick guy if you had just given him a smile once in a while, something he could cling to."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Lassiter protested. He felt terrible about the way he previously treated Shawn. Spent so many nights lying in his bed thinking back over how he could have prevented the worst thing to happen to Shawn. Had he just been nice once in a while then Shawn never would have run away, never fallen in love with an abusive jerk, never come crawling back home. Never have the opportunity to finally steal his heart. There were so many things he would gladly do over if given the option, yet the chances of that happening were slim to none so he tried to make up for it, tried to put his best foot forward when it came to Shawn.

He spent an awful lot of time wondering if he was falling short, if perhaps Shawn deserved someone better.

"And he walked away? Right, got mad and left?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where he went?" inquired the frazzled detective, his anger finally beginning to dissipate. "I should see if he's okay, have a word with him."

Henry looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly avoiding the question.

"Henry..."

"I can't find him," the older Spencer finally confessed. "I ran by his apartment, my house, the Psych office, even stopped at your house. I can't find him, Carlton."

Lassiter felt himself falling apart inside as the other shoe dropped. He closed his eyes trying to rein in the emotions threatening to take over. How could Shawn's father have made such a stupid move? He knew better than anyone that treating Shawn with kid gloves would not help the situation, but he couldn't just throw the poor guy into the deep end without any help. Shawn needed to learn how to trust himself again, see that his judgment wasn't wrong, and playing a trick on him with a phony crime scene was not the way to go about achieving that goal. And now, now he was missing. His mind raced back to the day almost a year ago when Henry came down to the precinct with Gus to file a missing person's case, not that it actually went anywhere or was in any way official since they kept getting calls and the occasional postcard from Shawn. Still, he felt as though Shawn might have slipped out of his grasp, been driven away by two foolish men who meant well.

"You're sure you can't find him?" he finally asked.

Henry nodded. "That's why I came here. Look, I know that I messed up, I get it. But I want my son back, Carlton, not the shadow he currently is. He needs to get over this, find his footing and get back to the real world."

"And I'll help him do that," Lassiter said. He quickly added, "You can help, too. Just no more fake crime scenes. We can discuss what to do when we find him."

* * *

He drove around Santa Barbara for hours trying to hit all the places he suspected Shawn might visit. Making sure to give extra special attention to any place advertising anything even remotely pineapple flavored. A weird fruit loved by the man he couldn't get out of his head. Just one of those quirks he soon came to cherish. Despite all the stops and the phone calls with Henry and Juliet and Gus he didn't seem to be making any head way. With every passing hour that did not bring him a speck of a clue as to where Shawn got off to he felt more and more panicked. What if like last time Shawn had taken off running? Could history be on the verge of repeating itself?

He couldn't even get a trace on Shawn's motorcycle, though he had a few of the uniformed officers looking for it.

Lassiter started to drive around aimlessly heading in no particular direction, just hoping he might accidentally drive by Shawn, stop alongside him at an intersection. Then he realized that was actually driving toward a destination. A voice in the back of his mind told him to turn around, that no way in hell would he find Shawn where he was headed. And yet, he kept right on going, backtracking to a time in his past that he wanted forever to forget. The building loomed before him as he turned off the main road entering the bumpy, weedy and cracked parking lot. With a sigh of relief, quickly followed by an overwhelming urge of fear, he noticed Shawn's bike parked near one of the small doors in the vast warehouse.

The place Patrick took him.

The place Shawn came in an attempt to set him free, to make things right with Patrick.

And it was after their trip here that he'd later found Shawn bleeding on the pavement, a bullet wound in his head, another in his stomach.

He let the car pretty much coast across the parking lot as he tried to think of a logical reason for Shawn to have come here, for him to have thought of looking for Shawn in this place. The car came to a stop beside Shawn's bike. Lassiter killed the engine, listened to it tick as it cooled. Then he was out of the car and racing toward the building. His mind went wild with unpleasant thoughts. Shawn tried to take his life before, why wouldn't he get so upset as to try again? And what a place, too. He burst through the door mentally preparing himself for what he might find on the other side. He skidded to a stop as Shawn cried out in sheer surprise, the noise deafening in the otherwise empty building.

"Oh thank god," Lassiter muttered walking toward Shawn. "I was afraid you...you..."

"I what?" Shawn inquired, tilting his head slightly to the side, an eyebrow arched. FOr just a second, a blink of an eye, he looked so much like the old Shawn.

Lassiter shook his head, stopping within arm's reach of Shawn. He wanted desperately to drag Shawn into his arms but some inner voice told him to wait, to hold off, it wasn't the right moment. "Nothing."

Shawn narrowed his eyes. "Liar." He looked away, focused on the spot where Patrick had come out of hiding to hold a gun to his head. Of course, there had been a chair and a few crates in the warehouse then, long removed to parts unknown. "You thought I was going to hurt myself, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "Shawn-"

"After that little stunt my father pulled I had to get away," Shawn cut him off. "I needed some time to think and imagine my surprise when I found myself here, of all places."

Lassiter opened his mouth to remark that he had been thinking the same thing, however, Shawn kept talking.

"I've been here for hours, lost in the silence of the warehouse and the never ending stream of doubtful thoughts in my mind," he said, his voice on the verge of breaking. "Probably thought myself in so many circles I could out ring Saturn. And finally, after all of this, after standing here and forcing myself to remember every single thing I felt that night, I have made up my mind."

He was almost too afraid to ask. "About what?"

"This place," Shawn gestured with his arms. "Not the warehouse, per say, but all of Santa Barbara."

"Shawn-"

"I need to leave," Shawn said so matter-of-factly.

Lassiter felt like someone had just sucker punched him, his heart starting to crack right down the middle. "You can't be serious, Shawn. One bad day and you're ready to go running off again. Come on, let's go home-"

Shawn was shaking his head, eyes momentarily closed. "I have to leave, Lassiter. You can't change my mind."

"Shawn, please."

"I'm sorry, just..." He looked at Lassiter, the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. He let the rest of the words die on his lips, turning and heading toward the door.

Lassiter wasn't thinking about the consequences, his brain not functioning properly, his heart screaming at him to do something, anything to keep Shawn from walking out that door. He went after him, grabbing hold of his wrist to stop him, to touch him. Shawn glanced back at him, tried to pull his arm free but Lassiter refused to let go. He knew that once he did there was likely no chance in hell he would ever see Shawn again and he didn't want that to happen.

"Let me go."

"Shawn, stop it," Lassiter barked. "Stop running away and-"

"Let me go, Carlton," Shawn said, trying again to free his arm. "Your hurting me."

He saw a flash of fear in Shawn's eyes and it was all he needed. His worries and fears vanished as the stark realization of the situation hit him. He stared at his hand, the way he griped Shawn's wrist, the way his knuckles had turned white. "Oh god..."

He let Shawn's arm slip free. Shawn clutched his arm to his chest, rubbing at the spot where Lassiter had held him. The skin looked faintly red. With one last look at the detective he turned his back and slipped out the door.


	15. Tear One

**Chapter Fifteen: Tear One**

He looked up as she came walking through the door, a speck of sunlight managing to find its way into the dark space before the door shut it out again. She did not speak as she spotted him sitting on the floor, the expression on her face easy to read. He wanted to get up, start bossing her around, chase away the cloud of depression settling over his head. He wanted to be the Carlton Lassiter she knew, the one that usually made her roll her eyes and shake her head. The one that threatened to shot him when he kept telling her to 'shut it'. As he watched her taking her place beside him he realized once again how rude and unfriendly he had been with her since she joined the force as his partner. Apparently he had a way of treating all the most important people in his life like trash. Perhaps one of the reasons his marriage failed. Or maybe his marriage fell apart because he knew he did not really love his wife, that there was someone else in the world meant for him.

Someone like Shawn.

"I was worried about you, Carlton," she said, breaking the silence. "What are you doing here in this dreadful place? I thought it would be one of the last places you ever wanted to see."

"Shawn," he uttered the one word, the one name to give everything he did meaning.

And as he expected she fully understood, nodding her head slowly. "How is he doing? Must not be well, judging by the look on your face." Much to his surprise- and quite possibly her own- she put her arm around his shoulders. "What has he gone and done this time?"

"He left."

Jules frowned. "What? He did what?"

"He left," his whispered, not wanting to hear the words much less speak them. They kept echoing over and over in his mind since the door closed and Shawn disappeared. He should have gone racing after Shawn, he figured, should have charged out the door and demanded that he stay. Maybe if he had done that Shawn would have stayed. Maybe if he had spoke the truth about what lay deep in his heart he would not be sitting in the dark sulking like a big baby. "He said he had to leave and...I let him."

"Oh, Carlton, I'm sure he'll be back," she tried to sooth his pain. "He loves you. Any fool can see it. He can't stand to be away from you for too long."

"That's easy for you to say," he responded with a touch too much anger. Where did that come from, he wondered? Of course, where else, he was mad at himself. "He won't be back...not after..."

"After what?"

He didn't want to tell her. It was none of her business anyway. She needed to stop sticking her nose where it didn't belong, keep her mind on her job and her own love life. Shut up, he yelled at himself. He had to stop thinking poorly of everyone, stop letting his anger get the best of him and ruin all the good things in his life. Maybe he should seriously consider taking an anger management class, though when would he find the time? He closed his eyes, letting his head rest back against the warehouse wall. The place stank, it suddenly dawned on him. It smelled like something small, perhaps a chipmunk, might be rotting in one of the far off corners. It also reeked of dust, stale air.

"Carlton, what happened?"

"I grabbed him," he blurted out without meaning. Once it was out he couldn't stop himself. "He was going to walk out of my life and I didn't want to see him go, not after what happened last time. I...I wasn't thinking. I tried to stop him and grabbed his arm. When he tried to pull away...I saw the fear in his eyes, O'Hara. I'm no better for him than the asshole who beat him."

She frowned, glaring at him. "Shut up, Carlton, I don't want to hear you talking like that, you hear me? You are a great detective, a decent man. You are absolutely nothing like Patrick. So what if you scared him once? It happens. Hell, there have been times when you scared me. Shawn is in a fragile state of mind. He misinterpreted your love, saw it as a reflection of what someone else did. He couldn't see that you just wanted him to stay."

"What does it matter?" he mumbled. "He left. Walked right out the door without looking back."

"Any idea where he might have gone off to this time?"

He shook his head, wishing he had done something more to keep Shawn from leaving. How far away would Shawn run this time? And for how long? Would he even bother coming back home? There were too many unanswered questions lingering in the air, questions he did not want to bother thinking about at the moment. Earlier in the day he got pissed at Henry for being so stupid as to fake a crime scene. In reality, he was the idiot. He was the one that mad Shawn flash back to a horrible time in his life. He wanted to kick himself in the ass, instead he smacked the back of his head against the wall, just the one time, a minor punishment for his own stupidity.

Jules pulled him closer. "He'll come back, Carlton. Just give him a little time. Have some faith in him. The love he feels for you...it will help him get over this."

"How can you be so sure? How can you believe in any of that?"

"Because we all need something to believe in," she told him a touch too cheerfully. "Trust me, Shawn will be back for you."

He scoffed in disagreement, fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure he will. He doesn't even know he hurt me, O'Hara. Juliet. He left, walked right out the door, never saw the tear slip from my eye..." Did he just admit to crying to her of all people?

Much to his surprise she didn't say anything, didn't pick on him for showing a sign of weakness. Instead she placed her other hand on his arm, resting her head on his shoulder and kept her mouth shut. The two of them let the silence wrap around them, blanket them as the sun outside continued to sink further and further toward the horizon, the warehouse growing darker with each passing second. And the only thing he could think about was the many ways he screwed up everything.


	16. Easier to Run

**Chapter Sixteen: Easier to Run  
**

Outside the window he heard the choir of crickets, a few cars passing down the street, otherwise the night was silent. A breeze ruffled the curtains making the fabric hiss as it rubbed together. When he reached his destination it was not as he had expected. Everything seemed perfect, in place. It brought back memories he wished he could forget, yet realized he would never be able to outrun. He settled on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight as they always did. Why the hell he felt like coming here was beyond him, but it felt right, this was where he needed to be. He spared a thought for Lassiter, wondering why the detective had not stopped him on the way out of the warehouse. Absently he rubbed the spot on his arm where faint bruises were visible. He knew Lassiter did not mean to hurt him, that it was a heat of the moment sort of thing, so had been all those moments with Patrick. At least with Lassiter it was different. At least with Lassiter he saw the hurt and instant regret in the detective's eyes, understood that Lassiter felt ashamed of what he had done, that he had not planned on doing it to begin with and wished he could take it back.

Shawn rubbed his hands together, feeling like there was something that was supposed to happen with his arrival. Instead the house remained silent, quiet, eerily quiet. He stood, not wanting to be in this particular room anymore. When he looked back at the bed he felt a shiver run down his spine, his stomach twisting in revulsion. The things that used to happen here...He shook his head in an effort to chase away the dark thoughts. He left the room, closing the door with a click. In the darkness he navigated the property with ease, moving into the living room where he sat on the sofa. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the silence was suddenly broken by a buzzing sound. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was his phone alerting him to an incoming call. He almost forgot he put it on vibrate as a way of ignoring it.

Gus had already called him four times, his father five. He received calls from Jules and even McNab. He was even pleasantly surprised to get one phone call from Chief Vick, wondering why she would take the time to call him. It may have been his imagination but he felt that half the time he annoyed the hell out of her. He probably annoyed a lot of people. Isn't that what his father and Gus usually told him? Isn't that why Lassiter acted the way he did toward him, always getting mad? He retrieved the phone from his back pocket and felt his heart sink a bit as the number and name flashed across the screen. Yet another call from his father. He knew he should pick it up, should let someone, anyone, know that he was okay, but he let it keep ringing until it stopped and switched over to his voicemail.

He placed the phone on the table. Not one single call from Lassiter. Not one. He could not believe that after everything Lassiter was willing to let him go without a fight. He closed his eyes, leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs. He let out a shuddering sigh as he ran his hands through his hair. He stayed in that position, fighting back the urge to cry. After everything that had happened recently he expected Lassiter to at least make an attempt, to come for him, and now...perhaps he had already done the damage, made things impossible for the detective and sent him packing. Maybe his leaving gave Lassiter the out he had been searching for, a chance to get himself out while he could.

"You know, I could write you up for breaking and entering," a voice cut through his thoughts.

Startled, Shawn looked up to find Mark standing in the living room, having not heard him enter the house. The detective held a flashlight in one hand creating deeper pools of shadow in the otherwise dark house. He reached into his back pocket and held up a key. "Technically, not breaking and entering if you have a key."

"They didn't change the damn locks?"

Shawn shook his head.

"Morons," muttered Mark as he gave the room a look around. "This place looks..."

"Like it got stuck in time?" Shawn finished.

Mark merely shook his head. "Why the hell are you here, Shawn? I figured this would be the last place you wanted to be given everything that went down here."

He had been asking himself the same question since he pulled into the driveway. When he left Lassiter he knew exactly where he wanted to go, but never imagined he would follow through on his plan. And yet, now here he was sitting in the very living room where Patrick once hit him in the relative vicinity of his left kidney. And if memory served him correctly Patrick had broken a rib in this room as well, by way of the coffee table and one rather well placed shove. When he arrived he expected to find the door locked, the house the property of someone else after all these months. But his key still worked and when he walked through the door it was like he had gone back in time. Nothing had been changed. He could even still see his blood on the carpet from the night he came to his senses and ran. It baffled him, freaked him out.

"Why?" was all he could think to ask.

Mark shrugged. "House went to a family member out of state. Guess they haven't bothered to make it out here. Could be they didn't much care for him." Shawn could tell at exactly what moment Mark noticed the old blood stain on the floor. The detective stared at it, then gazed at Shawn. "Why are you here? You know you have everyone down in Santa Barbara worried about you. Your father gave me a ring," Mark quickly explained when he saw the question on Shawn's face. "You should at least answer the phone next time it rings, let them know you're okay."

He'd been having those exact same thoughts.

"Shawn-"

"Please, Mark," he said, shaking his head. He closed his eyes, falling back against the sofa. "This place is hell. And I-"

"I'm sorry, Shawn," Mark suddenly said, his voice no more than a whisper. "I'm sorry I didn't stop him from hurting you. I knew about his temper, the fact he could never make a relationship work. I never in a million years thought he would...try to kill you. I should have stepped in sooner, done something, anything to stop it, but..."

"He was your partner. On some level you still wanted to believe in him," suggested Shawn, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Possible, but it does not excuse me-"

"I don't blame you, Mark, I never did," Shawn finally said the words, looking Mark in the eye.

Mark settled on the edge of the coffee table. "I hate thinking about the things that happened here."

"You aren't the only one."

"I should have done something," Mark continued to lament.

"Let it go," Shawn told him.

Mark actually chuckled. "Much the way you have, huh?" He gazed at Shawn. "I know you're trying to run again. Of course, when most people run from their past they don't run back to it. You shouldn't be here, Shawn. You should be back home with that detective. He cares about you, an awful lot, isn't that what you always wanted?" He went on without waiting for Shawn to reply. "Don't ruin a good thing because of what happened. You can't change it. I can't, no one can. What is done is done. We can learn from the mistakes made, allow them to eat away at us or let them help us grow." Mark stood, heading toward the front door. "Go home, Shawn. You don't belong here."

Without another word Mark left him sitting in the dark house. He stared at the closed front door for a few minutes longer. The things Mark said echoed through his mind, sent him thinking. He came back to this particular part of his past simply to face what had happened. He knew deep down that he was running scared because his mind kept flashing back to here and what happened, the terrible things that transpired. As far as his mind was concerned monsters dwelled in this house. Unimaginable terrors. But now that he had actually been back, had walked through the house and looked at all the things that belonged to Patrick, he no longer saw monsters. He saw the life of a man with so much anger he pushed others away, he hurt them both physically and mentally. A bitter man.

He stood, feeling a small weight had been lifted off his shoulder. He no doubt had a long road to go, but at least he found what he was looking for, a sense of closure. As he walked by the fireplace he paused, plucking a framed picture from the mantel. The only picture of him and Patrick taken at a fund-raising picnic. They both looked so happy, despite his black eye. The first time Patrick left a visible mark. He should have left long before then, yet he was in love. No, he smiled wistfully, what he had experienced with Patrick wasn't love. Love wasn't supposed to hurt, not in that way. The thought of Lassiter crossed his mind as he settled the picture on the mantle. Lassiter may have had a temper, however no matter how much he annoyed the detective Lassiter never once lashed out at him, never raised a hand to him.

Shawn walked to the front door, gave the interior one last look before stepping out into the night. He made it down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, before he realized he was not alone. When he looked up he saw Lassiter leaning against his unmarked police cruiser, arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came here for you," he replied, walking across the front yard. "Mark called me a while go, said he spotted your bike in town. When he got the report of a B&E he rang me, figured you would be here."

"Lassiter-"

"You don't have to explain, Shawn," he said quietly. He placed his hands on Shawn's hips and pulled him closer. "I'm just happy that you're okay."

"Listen, after what happened at the warehouse-"

"Shut up, Shawn," he whispered, placing a finger under Shawn's chin and titling his head up. He kissed him, slow and tender. A kiss full of need.


	17. Breakfast in Bed

AN: Please bear with me. My internet has been screwy since some nasty storms blew through about two weeks ago.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seventeen: Breakfast in Bed**

He was sleeping contentedly having one of the most wonderful dreams he could remember having in a long time. Not that he would ever admit to anyone he actually dreamed, they might think less of him, might ruin his tough imagine. He was thoroughly enjoying his dream, a soft smile on his lips. Yet though he found himself fast enough sleep to dream he was acutely aware of all the things going on around him, one of those annoying habits he picked up while being a cop. He made it his job to never let down his guard, always prepared for the worst, always to be known as the detective that carried a gun with him no matter what. He even kept one in the nightstand drawer. Then again, so did a lot of cops so he made sure to stash another spare in his bedroom in an undisclosed location. A man could never have enough guns to protect himself, at least that is how he thought. Even in his dream he had a gun holstered comfortably on his hip. Something he knew how to handle, something he felt comfortable with.

An almost inaudible sound penetrated his brain ruining his dream. It sounded to him like the scuff of carpet under socked feet. He grumbled under his breath without opening his eyes, rolling on to his side before he completely lost hold of the pleasant dream. He was about to kill a bunch of squirrels who definitely did not see it coming.

"Rise and shine, Lassie-face," declared a rather loud voice, oddly cheerful for the hour.

Against his will Lassiter's eyes opened to a blurry vision of his bedroom. He was tired, bone tired. He had spent the better portion of the night driving back to Santa Barbara after running to get Shawn. Someone had to bring Shawn back home where the people that loved him could keep an eye on him. Of course, the ride had been awkward after the kiss he felt he needed to bestow upon Shawn. He may have loved the hell out of Shawn but there were certain things he was still uncomfortable with, mainly sharing his emotions. Anger, he was good at showing the world his anger, not necessarily expressing his love for another human being. Probably the main reason his marriage fell apart.

"Oh, Lassie," drawled Shawn from somewhere behind him. He was almost terrified to turn around. When would he get used to the idea of Shawn being in his house, never mind walking into his bedroom like he lived there? A lot of boundaries had been crossed over the last few days and he realized there was no going back. Not that he wanted to, right?

Then something snapped in Lassiter's brain. In his lingering sleep-fog he failed to realize something of the utmost importance. As if he had been stung by a bee he sat up in bed, the blankets falling away from his bare chest. Shawn stood near the door wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers, a twinkle in his eyes. The sort of twinkle Lassiter could not recall having seen in the last few weeks, not since Shawn woke up in the hospital, in fact. His brain began to work on overdrive, think up all the times he saw that look and the miles of mischief it tended to lead to. There were certain things over which he could not forgive Shawn. And all the while that his brain worked he kept coming back to one single simple thought.

"You sound...cheery," his voice sounded rough with too little sleep. Maybe a hint of weariness at what Shawn might be up to.

Shawn beamed. "Why shouldn't I be cheery? Here I am in your house," he walked toward the bed, "and this time you're actually still here."

"What is that supposed to mean, exactly?" Lassiter frowned. Shawn had been in his house a lot lately, with him.

"Nothing," Shawn said as he disappeared out the door. Just as Lassiter was beginning to worry about what Shawn might be doing to his house the fake psychic came parading back into the room with a tray of food. He placed it on the empty side of the bed. "Look, I made you breakfast in bed. Eat up. You're probably going to have a busy day."

Lassiter stared at the food unsure of what to say or do. Was Shawn going to turn into some sort of creepy house-wife version of himself, because that would be truly scary, something he would have no patience to deal with. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Is that pineapple on my pancakes?"

"Yep," Shawn nodded enthusiatically. He pointed to the yellowish liquid in the glass. "With a lovely glass of pineapple juice."

"Shawn-"

"Don't tell me you don't like pineapple," Shawn feigned being hurt. Or was it true? Sometimes he could never tell the difference. "Definitely going to have to fix that," Shawn muttered as he left the room.

The small cell phone on the nightstand began to ring as Lassiter started having thoughts of going back to bed, or at least pushing the pineapple off the rather delicious smelling pancakes. With a sinking feeling he reached out for the phone, knowing it was his since Shawn's was usually bright green. The number flashing on the screen told him all he needed to know. Another day of work waited right 'round the corner, much the way Shawn predicted. For some reason that annoyed him as much as it pleased him. A little glimmer of the old Shawn. Perhaps there was hope yet that Shawn would find his way out of the darkness. Perhaps the trip back to that...place, turned out to be the right idea.

As he carefully threw back the blankets, not wanting to make a mess with the breakfast, he climbed out of bed. It wasn't until he was half to the bathroom that he noticed his minimal amount of clothing. For a moment his heart stopped. He racked his brain trying to remember every single detail of last night starting at the front door. Yet nothing seemed concrete. He got an image here, another there. Could it be that he and Shawn...He shook his head, a shiver running down his spine. No. Just...no.


	18. Urgent

AN: The computer leaves tomorrow to be fixed!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Eighteen: Urgent**

He found he could not think straight as he sat as his desk. The feelings he experienced earlier in the morning kept racing back into his mind. At one point he realized he missed an entire conversation with Officer McNab, who brought him information on one of his cases. Oddly enough he figured the officer saw nothing different in his behavior seeing as he tended to ignore the guy on a basic level, up until one of those times when he actually need McNab to do something for him. Of course, for some reason it still irked him that Shawn was real good friends with McNab. A bit of jealousy? Though why he should feel jealous over a married guy hanging out with Shawn, well, there were a lot of things he had yet to figure out. When he glanced at the report the questions on his face must have been easy to see because O'Hara tried butting into his business. He did not in any way want to tell her that he might have taken the next step in his relationship with Shawn. He wasn't even entirely sure it happened.

And that is what worried him more than anything else.

If they did, why could he not remember? Had it been that terrible that he just instantly blocked it out never wanting to relive those moments? Or could it have been something else? He remembered the car ride, being tired. And then all his memories picked up again in the morning. The idea that he and Shawn might have actually...He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. He could feel himself on the verge of falling apart. He supposed at some point the relationship would end up heading in that direction, but he was not entirely sure he was ready to make that step. Shawn was his first relationship with a guy and things had been a little out there since they got together. He was trying his damndest to make it work. All the while keeping the relentless questions and doubts locked away deep in the pit of his mind. And now this, this, he didn't even know what the hell to call it. A lapse of memory?

Someone patted him on the shoulder, waving their other hand in his face. He snapped out of his problems long enough to see O'Hara standing at his side with a questioning look on her face. She was a good detective, something he tended to forget at times, and he should have known she would pick-up on a subtle differences in his mood. Either he needed to get his head in the game for the rest of the work day or she was going to start badgering him until he finally broke down and told her what it was that bothered him.

"What do you want, O'Hara?" he purposely made his voice a bit terse to keep up appearances.

"Crime scene," she said, her brow furrowing. "You weren't listening to a word I said, were you? What is on your mind, Carlton? Does it have something to do with Shawn? Because I got a call from Gus earlier in the morning and he said-"

Lassiter felt the rate of his heart increase. If they had done something he would not put is past Shawn to tell Gus all the details, down to the last most insignificant part. And what if Gus told O'Hara and now...What if it was something else entirely different? What if something had, yet again, happened to Shawn?

"-and he was even singing, Carlton. _Singing_," O'Hara stressed.

He looked at her dumbfounded having missed most of what she said. At least on the up side it sounded like Shawn was merely acting like Shawn. A good thing, he decided, given the way things were headed as of late. He figured Shawn would either find his way back or drift too far out of reach to be helped. As much as he may not want to admit it he knew Shawn. Knew him well. Knew that just like his father Shawn was a stubborn fool that would do anything to get his way or to get a point across or prove he was right. He found it highly unlikely Shawn would fall to far to be saved. He might get close, but to actually sink that far into the darkness, it was not Shawn's style.

"So are we going or do you want to sit here all day like some mindless zombie?" probed O'Hara.

"Sure, let's go. What's the call?" he inquired gathering his things and heading toward the parking lot where his car waited. The car he used to drive miles away to pick-up Shawn at his former lover's house. He pushed the thought away. It was time to focus on his work.

"Murder," she informed him like he should have known, and he should have since he was a homicide detective. "Some guy gunned down in his own car apparently. Not a pleasant sight according to the first officer on the scene."

Lassiter slipped behind the wheel. "Then I guess it's a good thing we're heading out there before lunch."

* * *

He could not move, frozen, stuck in place. None of this was making sense. It was like the world had started moving in slow motion. He could see the lips of people around him, they moved, yet he did not hear a single sound. Some of them looked in his direction like they could read the thoughts going through his mind. Not possible, he kept telling himself. None of this was possible. He vaguely felt the touch of O'Hara's hand on his arm, a sniffle as she tried to register what they had just stumbled over.

The scene was unfriendly in that half the car was burned. Someone had called the fire department who was able to put out the fire before it burned the whole car and the body inside. On some level Lassiter wished the fire had consumed the person sitting behind the front wheel, the blood splattered windows, maybe then he would not have this gnawing void in the pit of his stomach, this aching numbness growing in the place of his heart. Panic should have been racing through his veins but the world had yet to return to normal speed. He kept seeing the face, the eyes, the perfectly neat hole right between the eyes.

And then everything snapped back into reality when someone yelled that they had found a gun.

"Carlton-"

"Shawn," was the only word he could manage to make his mouth form.

"The Psych Officer," she answered clearly understanding what it was that he had wanted. One of the reasons she was his perfect partner. She didn't even try to stop him as he raced toward his car and left the crime scene breaking the rules in the process. He had a more pressing matter. Something more important than a dead body in a car. He had to make sure Shawn was okay.


	19. In the End

AN: My computer came home!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Nineteen: In the End  
**

On the drive to Shawn's apartment Lassiter nearly lost his cool. He held so tightly to the steering wheel that his knuckles quickly turned white, his hands beginning to ache. He kept thinking about the scene, the burned body sitting in the driver's seat and all he could think of was what it meant to Shawn, what it meant for him. The nightmare he prayed had ended with the death of Patrick had come roaring back to life, refusing to be let go, to rest peacefully in the dark. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his skin as he careened toward an intersection. With the siren blaring he cut through the traffic without so much as hesitating. The chief would most likely give him an earful when she found out he left the scene of a crime for a personal errand. Then again, for all he knew she might completely understand what he was going through, the thoughts racing through his mind.

As he neared the street with Shawn's apartment he felt as though his heart was going to hammer clear through his ribs and start beating against the front windshield. He desperately wanted to keep the terrible thoughts from taking a firm hold on his mind, but with each passing second he sank a little further into a well of panic. He might be too late, might arrive to find that everything was beyond his control. He had come too far for this to fall apart now, not when he was so close to finally having a touch of understanding about the thing going on between him and Shawn.

He pulled into the parking lot leaving the unmarked cruiser in front of the building, not wanting to waste even a second in finding a proper parking space. As he raced through the entrance his cell phone began to chirp. No doubt a call from his partner or his boss. Unwisely he chose to ignore the sound, forced it to the back of his mind. He could call them when he knew that everything was okay. Just five more minutes, that was all he was asking for, five minutes to make sure his world had not been turned terribly upside down when he thought everything was perfectly fine. Usually fleet of foot he nearly tripped on his way up the stairs, holding tight enough to the banister that if he fell the poorly attached thing would come free of the wall. He was beginning to gasp for breath, thinking that maybe he should spend less time behind his desk and at the shooting range, a little more time at the gym, especially if he wanted to keep up with Shawn.

Keep up with him doing what?

He had no time to dwell on the thought, to contemplate further as he reached the floor with Shawn's apartment. He tried to control his panic, forcing himself to walk down the hallway, though at a brisk pace. The last thing he wanted was to put Shawn into a position where he wanted to run again. He wasn't entirely sure he could deal with Shawn leaving for a third time. By the time he reached the closed apartment door he was no longer trying to catch his breath, his heart having slowed a fraction of a second. With some trepidation he raised his hand, brought his knuckles to the door and knocked. Did the sound come off as panicked, maybe a bit too much police-open-the-fucking-door? With baited breath he waited, the seconds feeling more like hours.

And then the door opened.

Relief washed over Lassiter as he came face to face with Shawn. A perfectly healthy looking Shawn standing in the doorway with a bewildered expression on his face, a partially chopped pineapple in one hand. "Lassie, what a surprise," he said, then realized that something was wrong, maybe picked up on a subtle clue lingering in the air for he suddenly frowned. "What? What's wrong, what happened?"

"We need to talk," Lassiter said as he invited himself in. For a moment he wondered what Shawn had down with the knife he was using to chop the pineapple. Then he quickly chided himself. Shawn was not always running around with the intent of hurting himself. It happened maybe once, twice. As he heard the lock click in place behind him, Shawn closing the door, Lassiter tried to think of the best way to bring up the terrible news. For a while now he had been wondering a lot about the murder victim, what the person meant to Shawn. However, as much as he wanted answers he knew touching upon the subject would open a wound still in the process of healing.

"You're starting to scare me," Shawn broke the silence. He was clinging to the pineapple now, the juice of the fruit soaking into his baby blue shirt.

"I..." he choked on the rest of the words. How did he say it? Why was it that he could break the news to other people, but when it came to Shawn he wasn't sure how to put it? He was definitely not used to feeling this way, and not entirely sure he liked it. "Shawn-"

"Who died?" blurted out Shawn figuring it out for himself. "Was it Gus? Oh no, not Gus, I always told him that the pharmacy job would get him killed. Some stupid teenage punk was going to get it in his head that there was decent drugs in that damn silver case-"

"Gus is fine," Lassiter said loud enough to be heard. He could see the unshed tears in Shawn's eyes at the thought of having lost his partner in crime. "At least, I assume he's fine, it's not like I make it a habit of keeping tabs on him."

Shawn's eyes grew very wide. "Oh no, is it my dad? Did he finally fall overboard in the attempt to catch some mythical giant fish?"

"No, Shawn," Lassiter was on the verge of losing his temper. "Would you just let me have a word without interrupting me?"

In response Shawn hugged the pineapple tighter, the prickly green leaves scratching his chin and leaving a tiny trickle of blood.

"There really is no easy way for me to say this, Shawn, but..." He decided it best to just get it done with before he lost his nerve. "I got a call earlier today, maybe 'bout an hour ago, to a crime scene. A murder in a car. Someone tried to burn the evidence...the firefighters..." He could tell that Shawn was very close to losing it. "I'm sorry, Shawn, someone murdered Mark."

For a moment Shawn did not react, then the pineapple slipped from his hands, falling to the carpet and leaving a yellowish stain. Lassiter found it hard to decipher if Shawn was upset by the news or shocked. He wanted to start pressing for answers, push Shawn to tell him what the hell was going on. He found it highly unlikely that Patrick's former partner, the one who claimed to have been on Shawn's side, would come down here and be murdered by coincidence. Someone took out Mark for a reason. And they made sure to do it in a place where he would get the call, at least that's how it played out in his mind. He might be jumping to conclusion, yet his gut said otherwise. Shawn might very well be the next target.

He hated the fact that he was going to have to play detective, but there were things he needed to know. "Shawn, is there any reason-"

"He was a cop," Shawn pointed out the obvious, shrugging his shoulders, silent tears moving slowly down his cheeks. "He probably pissed off a lot of people."

"Are you in trouble?"

Shawn did not answer. He was quickly become despondent.

"You have to be truthful with me, Shawn, did Patrick get Mark into some sort of trouble?" he took a step toward Shawn.

"I honestly don't know. He...he was always cleaning up after Patrick so..." Shawn let the rest of the words die on his lips.

Lassiter knew he should have pushed more, that he should have forced Shawn to answer all the important questions. Instead he decided to put the police work behind him, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around Shawn, embracing the man he loved. Shawn seemed relieved to have the contact, not having to answer anymore difficult and unpleasant questions. Something about what happened was not sitting right with Lassiter, though, he felt that something was still lurking in the darkness, something that had to be touched upon. He feared he might never get it out of Shawn, not without the possibility of losing him. Could he do it? Could he bring himself to play the role of detective knowing he might very well lose the one thing he held most dear? He pushed the thoughts away wanting to stay in the moment, take it for what it was, even if it meant pineapple juice was soaking into his shirt.


	20. Motionless

**Chapter Twenty: Motionless**

Sleeping this close to the city he found that he missed the sound of the crickets, their music drowned out by cars. And it did not help that there was a street light below projecting a soft glow over the room through the partially closed curtains. He thought about getting up and closing them further, then wondered why it bothered him so much when the room was plenty dark enough. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the room was not his and he was not lying in his bed. He tried not to dwell on it, yet for some reason every time he closed his eyes something would prompt him to pop them back open. A sound he was not entirely used to, the shifting of the bed, just about everything was keeping him awake. At one point he heard a person in the hallway shuffling, dragging their feet and it got under his skin. When he heard a bang against the wall he practically jumped out of the bed, gun in hand. Just someone who had too much to drink and could not walk a straight line to their apartment. Not a threat.

He got kicked in the shin. Finally, having given up on the idea of sleep altogether he sat up, the covers slipping away. Shawn looked back over his shoulder. "Can't sleep?"

"Not with you fidgeting around like a freakin' monkey," he grumbled, giving Shawn one of his patented glares. Even in the night gloom of the bedroom he saw Shawn smile.

"I'm your little love monkey," Shawn said in a sing-song voice now more awake than he had obviously been before.

"Shawn-"

"Wanna share a banana?"

Lassie just sat there for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open, the rest of his sentence forgotten as he tried to find the right thing to say. Had Shawn just asked him...No, the kid was joking around, nothing more. Then again, when it came to Shawn he usually hid his true feelings in the depth of his jokes and wacky sayings. The longer he sat there without saying anything the more awkward he felt, especially when he noticed the mischievous glint in Shawn's eye. The whole idea of sleeping with Shawn brought up the night from before; which he still could not remember too clearly. Though he had come to the subtle conclusion that if anything had happened Shawn would have been telling the world, letting everyone down at the precinct know that he got a little nookie.

"You don't even have to peel it," Shawn said with a straight face. "I can do that for you."

"Shawn!"

His reaction sent Shawn into a fit of giggles; which Lassiter had to admit he rather liked. After everything that had been going on lately, and with the news he delivered to Shawn mere hours ago, he thought it might be a long time before he heard Shawn laugh. Until that moment he had not realized just how much he missed it, how much he had grown to love every aspect, every little annoying thing that was Shawn. Perhaps he had finally and truly lost his mind. Would that be such a bad thing, though? How long had it been since he last had a meaningful relationship with anyone? After his wife let him he practically threw himself into the job, spent more than one night at his desk, only to come around hours later to find he had fallen asleep. With Shawn, well, it was like he was rediscovering a portion of his life left behind, forgotten, perhaps even a tad unwanted.

"Ow," Shawn's cry of pain jolted him from his thoughts.

Lassiter looked over to find Shawn sitting on the floor beside the bed. It was clear to him what had happened, too much laughter at his own jokes and what must have been the look on his face, and Shawn had laughed himself right out of the bed. "Moron."

Shawn stuck his tongue out. "Bite me."

"Keep it up and I just might," Lassiter replied, getting into the flow of the conversation. This time it was Shawn who just sat there not saying anything. Lassiter thought it only fair to save him the problem of having to come up with a proper reply. "Seriously, Shawn, I have to work in the morning. We can't all roll out of bed around noon, get a pineapple smoothie and head to the office. Crime stops for no man."

Shawn's eyes narrowed. "Wow...Lassie goes all cliche. Scary."

"Would you just get back in bed and please let me get a few hours of rest?"

"Yes, sir," Shawn saluted before climbing back under the covers and snuggling into the blankets and his pillow.

Lassiter sat there a few minutes longer trying to make sense out of everything that had just happened. How could Shawn be acting like himself when someone he claimed to have a been a decent friend had been brutally murdered? Could it be that Mark was not who Shawn said he was or who he portrayed himself to be? No, Lassiter found that unlikely. Perhaps Shawn just did not want to deal with it at the moment, perhaps he had grown tired of the doom and gloom lurking in his life and decided to make a stand. There were times when Lassiter could see the inner turmoil clear as day in Shawn's eyes. Would it be so bad for him to just let it go every now and then and have a few laughs? What could it hurt?

Feeling his eyelids droop he settled into the bed, pulling the covers up, his back to Shawn. He closed his eyes hoping to get those precious few hours of rest before having to start another grueling day on the job. He wondered where the investigation into Mark's death would lead, and what sort of information he might be able to coerce out of Shawn. He needed to know more about Mark, about how the detective was there for him while not truly being there to help. A sticky situation, no doubt. One that if he kept thinking about it would keep him up all night long so he tried to banish it from his mind.

The bed shifted as Shawn moved around. Lassiter was on the verge of yelling at him when he felt Shawn throw an arm over his side and snuggle up behind him. It may have been his imagination, a trick of the mind, but he could have sworn Shawn muttered a phrase along the lines of 'I love you' before falling into a peaceful sleep. Knowing Shawn was safe with him Lassiter was finally able to fall asleep.


	21. Listen to the Rain

**Chapter Twenty-One: Listen to the Rain  
**

It was raining by the time morning rolled around. Shawn pretty much stumbled out of bed heading for the bathroom. It was until he was coming back out that he noticed the other side of the bed was empty. His eyes strayed to the nightstand where he knew for a fact Lassiter had put his gun and badge the night previous. Both were as gone as the detective. He felt a bit let down, upset, having hoped that on some level Lassiter might stay with him through the day, especially after the bad news he delivered the night before. With a sigh he shuffled over toward the bed, falling down onto the mess of blankets. Why should he bother going around to the Psych office today? He felt like crap, as though someone had punched him in the stomach. The gloomy day glared at him from outside the window. The rain pitter-pattered against the glass. He drew the blankets up over his head to hide the world.

Why did it seem like nothing was going his way lately? More likely, almost nothing had gone his way since that dreaded day he got it into his head to leave, to run away because of something Lassiter said. Definitely a stupid mistake on his part, a sign of weakness, but a broken heart led him to do it. And now look at where it had gotten him. Beaten, abused, nearly killed more than once, too many hospital stays to count. Patrick was dead and now so was Mark. For what? He felt only the slightest twinge of...something when he thought of Patrick. He liked to think that at one point he did indeed love the detective, but on the flip side he may have seen a tiny bit of Lassiter in Patrick.

He frowned. How dare he even think of such a ludicrous thing. Patrick and Lassiter could not be more different. Lassiter may have possessed an easy to trigger temper, but he never once struck out in a moment of anger. He may have said hurtful things, that is where it stopped, and though it could still be considered verbal abuse Shawn knew it was just Lassiter's way of dealing with things. He actually came to love the way they would toy with each other, their banter turned out to be one more thing he cherished.

Shawn rolled onto his back, still concealed by the blanket, placing his hands under his head. He closed his eyes not in an effort to fall asleep, merely to block out the world one more way. When he thought of Patrick he always found himself thinking of Mark, and some of those memories were painful, but not to the point he wanted to banish them from his mind forever. There were times when painful memories needed to be held tight because sometimes it was all there was, the one remaining thing. He felt broken, upset, confused over why anyone would want to kill Mark. Then again, he learned some time ago that as a detective, a lot of people could and probably did want Mark dead. All the bad guys he put behind bars, the lives he intervened in. The list might turn out to be long and the killer may very well never be found.

That though broke his heart.

And then he sat up in a moment of fear. What if whoever killed Mark was gunning for him next? He felt the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. There was a time when he used to think of fear as a foreign concept. Now he dreaded the sensation of the emotion coursing through his body, the way it made him want to run down to the police station and hide within its safe walls. He went to swing his feet over the side of the bed when he heard the sound of someone at his apartment door. Shawn froze, one foot on the floor, the other resting on the bed. His heart began to hammer in his chest. He quickly looked around the room for an escape route. The bedroom door and the window. Nothing. And he saw no immediate weapons. As for hiding, he could try to blend in with the clothing in the closet or see if he still fit under his bed.

He heard the intruder place a set of keys on a hard surface; which made him frown. Creeping toward the bedroom door he peaked around the corner to find Lassiter walk into the kitchen. A wave of relief washed through his body. Then curiosity took over. Hadn't Lassiter been riding his case about having to get up early to work? Shawn let his eyes venture to the alarm clock. The red numbers told him it was well after the start of Lassiter's shift.

"What are you doing here?" he said in way of greeting as he left the bedroom.

Lassiter looked up. "Nice to see you, too."

Shawn held back. He knew Lassiter, knew how driven the detective could be when it came to working a case.

"I thought it might be better if I stayed with you today," Lassiter said when the silence got to be a bit much.

"Why?"

"I can leave."

"No," Shawn quickly replied. "Stay...I just thought...you know."

Lassiter walked over to him. "Shawn, I would rather stay with you today. Something tells me that you might need the company."

"Gus could always come over," he heard himself practically whisper, then wondered why he would say such a thing.

"I suppose..." Lassiter let the rest of the sentence hang in the air. Then he pulled Shawn close, wrapping him in an embrace and kissing him. The unexpected gesture sent a ripple through Shawn, a sensation he quite enjoyed and did not want coming to an end. Unfortunately, it did, and all too soon. "I don't think Gus would be up for that, though."

Shawn said nothing, deciding instead to savor the taste of Lassiter on his lips.

Suddenly Lassiter took him by the hand and pulled him back toward the bedroom. "Where are we going?"

"To listen to the rain."

Shawn arched an eyebrow. "What the hell have you done to my Lassie-face?"


	22. Iridescent

Lyrics are property/copyright to Linkin Park. I was listening to the song (Iridescent) and felt it fit the story rather nicely.

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-two: Iridescent  
**

"Are you ever going to ask him?" she inquired for the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes. She had been sitting at her desk tapping her pen non-stop and it was starting to get on his nerves. Not to mention, he swore to himself that should she say those very words one more time he would snap. Of course, she was referring to their case and his need to speak with Shawn about Mark. Yet, for some reason, he still could not bring himself to talk with the younger man, the one who had quickly stolen the key to his heart. The old Lassiter would have been in Shawn's face, would have dragged him down to the interrogation room and left his ass there for hours before returning to start the questions. But not anymore, now he was worried what the wrong memories might do to Shawn. He was afraid saying the wrong thing might send Shawn running for the hills again, even if finding out the truth was important. "You can't protect him forever, Carlton."

He looked at her, noting that her voice had gotten softer and she had dropped her pen. He saw clearly in her eyes the way she felt, saw that she understood his inner dilemma. And deep down, though it angered him a wee bit, he knew that she was right. He could not keep protecting Shawn. The world was cruel, bad things happened to good people more often than to bad, and he had to deal with it. He was going to have to just suck it up and deal with it. Though it was easier to think along those lines instead of actually acting on them. Really, though, there was no way around it. They had gotten nowhere on their owner. The key to the case may very well be in the knowledge Shawn had on Mark.

Grudgingly, without a word, he got to his feet, heading toward the parking lot. He fretted over his decision, tried to think of the right thing to say as he drove to Shawn's apartment. Nothing in his head sounded right, no matter how much he tried there was no way to be gentle about the topic at hand. In order to talk about Mark, in order to make Shawn explain what he knew of the now dead detective memories would have to be drudged up, brought back to the surface. And Shawn was just now on the cusp of healing, of returning to his former self. The wrong question and he could ruin it all.

_You were standing in the wake of devastation, You were waiting on the edge of the unknown, And with the cataclysm raining down, Your insides screaming "Save me now", You were there impossibly alone, Do you feel cold and lost in desperation? You build up hope but failures all you've known, Remember all the sadness and frustration, And let it go, Let it go._

The song cut into his thoughts. Let it go. Why couldn't he get Shawn to let it go, to move beyond the pain and see that life was going to be better? It wasn't like Patrick could come back from the grave and hurt him anymore. What he would not give to be called out to a crime scene and have Shawn come 'round doing his psychic act, pissing him off. The good old days. Who thought he would find himself missing them so desperately? He wanted to get Shawn back there, and maybe, just maybe, after one more trip into the past he could make it work. If they could get beyond this one point he might be able to help Shawn return to the place he belonged, being a pain in the ass goofball. Hell, he'd already seen glimpses of the old Shawn so there was hope. Some hope was better than nothing.

_Falling into empty space, With no one there to catch you in their arms..._

Was that what Shawn feared, he wondered as he parked outside the building. Was Shawn afraid of falling and finding nobody there to catch him? Lassiter left his gun in the glove compartment, frowning. Why didn't Shawn realize he was there, that he would catch him? Perhaps he should point that out at some point during the conversation, let Shawn know that he wasn't going to let him sink into the darkness again, not without putting up a good fight. As he crossed the parking lot and began to make his way up the stairs he couldn't help but notice he felt nervous. It was a feeling he was coming to know well when it came to dealing with Shawn. He still wasn't entirely sure of things. What he did know was that he definitely loved Shawn and hated the thought that he might send him running again by bringing up the painful past.

When he reached Shawn's door he hesitated. The look on O'Hara's face flashed through his mind and he knew that he went back to work without doing this she would, and bless her heart, she might not do it right. And there he went think lowly of his partner for the umpteenth time. He really needed to give her credit. She had stuck it out this long. It often surprised him he hadn't chased her away with his attitude. Perhaps it was only a matter of time. Before he could start to think bad of himself he knocked on the door. Now was not the time to doubt himself or to feel like a chicken. He never chickened out, never backed down. In fact, there were times when the chief yelled at him for being careless.

Shawn opened the door. The second he saw it was Lassiter he smiled like his old foolish self. "Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here for an afternoon quickie?"

"No, Shawn," he replied, staying in the hallway, not wanting to force himself into the apartment.

Shawn clearly read something on his face because the smile disappeared from his face. "What's wrong? What happened now Did someone else die?"

"No," he quickly reassured him, shaking his head for added emphasis. "No one has died. I just...we need to talk, Shawn."

"That phrase never leads anywhere good."

"It's about Mark."

Something akin to fear and sadness flashed in Shawn's eyes. Lassiter could see the inner turmoil clearly on his face, saw that he was trying not to slam the door and hide in his apartment. "I..."

"Please, Shawn, I don't want to do this anymore than you do," Lassiter explained. "But we have no leads, nothing to go on. You might know something helpful and..."

Shawn let out a slow deep sigh, closing his eyes, then he stepped back to let Lassiter into the apartment. Unhappy to be digging up the not too recent past, Lassiter walked into the now familiar place. Deep down he was desperate to know more about the detective that Shawn claimed helped him when he was stuck with Patrick, and knowing he felt that way made him sick. As he took a seat on the couch he realized he was nervous to find out that perhaps Shawn had actually had feelings for Mark at some point. Suddenly he wished he had kept driving or find some sort of paperwork at the office in need of being done. He should have let O'Hara conduct this interview. He may very well not like the things he heard. Too late now.


	23. Every Little Thing

**Chapter Twenty-three: Everything Little Thing**

They sat in the quiet of the apartment for what must have been twenty minutes. Lassiter was watching Shawn to gauge his mood. After telling him that he had come by to talk about Mark Shawn had gotten a bit withdrawn, a little quieter than he had been lately. It may have been Lassiter's imagination but he could have sworn that a cloud settled over Shawn's features. Was he worried about disclosing something he had yet to share with any of them? What sort of secret could he be keeping that would cause him to act in this manner? Those that were privy to the information already knew how much he suffered at the hands of Patrick. Hell, he was the one Shawn finally told about that fateful night when Patrick decided to get what he wanted regardless of Shawn's own feelings. What could possibly be worse than being violated in that fashion?

"Shawn, I know you don't want to do this, I get that, seriously," he started out, trying to tiptoe around the subject instead of jumping into the mine field. This was not his usual method of doing things and it felt awkward. He was good at asking the questions, making people uncomfortable, getting right into the thick of things. "But the only way this is ever going to go away is if we figure out who killed Mark, and in order to do that I need more information. There are things that we cannot possibly find in any file. Maybe you picked up on something subtle, something you did not think would become important later on, that's what I am looking for. Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me." When Shawn spoke his voice was low, soft. He chose to keep his eye averted.

"I haven't lied to you-"

Shawn looked at him, looked him square in the eye. "You want to know more than that, I can see the truth on your face. You want to know if I had feelings for Mark, if there was ever anything between us. How can you possibly be jealous at a time like this, hm? He's dead for crying out loud!"

"Shawn-"

"Maybe in another place and time," Shawn continued as though he had not spoken. Lassiter decided it might be best to let him talk, let him work out his thoughts. Who knew where it might lead them. "Don't get me wrong, Mark was a great guy. He definitely did not deserve to be partnered with a slimeball like Patrick. He should have...He was a great detective. You probably know that by now, having seen his record. He did most of the work and for some reason Patrick always got a bit of that spotlight."

That little nagging voice Lassiter tried to ignore when around Shawn came roaring to life. He tried not to think of the similarities he shared with Patrick. The issues with controlling his anger, the way he was always in the spotlight even though O'Hara did just as much work as him, sometimes even more. Should he really have been surprised that Shawn would find someone like him? Thinking about being like Patrick made Lassiter want to throw-up. Yeah, he could easily admit that he was not the easiest person to get along with and yeah, so there were times when he let his anger get the best of him. But not a chance in hell would he ever hurt Shawn the way Patrick had, never. It did not matter to him how much Shawn annoyed him, nothing the younger man did warranted the treatment he got from the deranged detective.

"You told me once," Lassiter decided to question, "that Mark knew about the way Patrick treated you. How extensive was the knowledge?"

Shawn grabbed a nearby pillow that was oddly shaped like a pineapple and hugged it to his chest. "He always suspected that...he told me on numerous occasions to stay away from Patrick. To not get involved. Needless to say, I failed to heed his warnings. I think he realized at one point that I was...infatuated with Patrick so he told me that if I ever need anything, anything at all, to call him and he would..."

"He would what, Shawn?"

"He would come to help."

"So he was like...what, offering to step in-between the two of you when things got heated?" Lassiter hated himself for wanting to know the details. He knew the things Patrick did, the acts of cruelty he carried out. Yet he knew so very little about Mark's role in the grander scheme of things. He worked somewhat with the detective shortly after Shawn returned home. Buzz had been shot as had he and for a short while he actually thought Mark might be the one Shawn was running from. Of course, there was the conversation he had with Mark in the hospital, the conversation that he figured Shawn still knew nothing about at this point. And for some reason he wanted to keep it that way.

The question seemed to bother Shawn more than Lassiter figured it should. He frowned, titling his head slightly to the side trying to gauge the manner of thoughts going through Shawn's mind. There was definitely something Shawn was not telling him, something deeply bothersome that he wanted to share but for some reason continued to hold back. Lassiter felt his heart starting to beat a little faster at the possibility of what it might be.

"Shawn, what is it? What's wrong?"

He picked up on the shimmer of tears in Shawn's eyes. Instantly he felt bad, despite having known the memories would be hard for Shawn to deal with, and he tried hard to be kind, obviously failing.

"Shawn-"

"He's dead because of me," Shawn suddenly yelled, jumping off the couch, the pineapple pillow falling to the floor forgotten.

Lassiter was quickly on his feet. "No, Shawn-"

"I called him here," Shawn continued, tears leaving tracks on his cheeks. "I...he was down here because I called him and now he's dead. It's my fault."

"No, Shawn, it is not," Lassiter crossed the small living room. He took Shawn by the shoulders, forcing him to pay attention. "Listen to me, Shawn, you had nothing to do with Mark's death. What happened, it's a tragedy, and yes, he may have been here because of you, but whoever hurt him, they were going to do it no matter where he went. Do you hear me?"

Instead of answering Shawn leaned into him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Lassiter was more than willing to hold him close if it meant giving him a measure of comfort. There were still more questions he needed to ask, yet he did not think now was the appropriate time. Deep down he knew without a doubt O'Hara would understand. Still, he wondered what it could have been that made Shawn call Mark in the first place. What purpose did he have in bringing the detective back down here? He did his best to avoid the annoying nagging voice in the back of his mind. Was he as Shawn pointed out earlier, truly jealous of a man who was now dead? And if he was, what did that say about him?


	24. Darkness

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Darkness**

A few hours later Lassiter stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel with which to dry off. After making sure Shawn would be okay by himself for a little while he headed back to the precinct. But not before calling Officer McNab and instructing the young officer to sit in a patrol car outside of Shawn's apartment building. He was not about to take any chances with Mark's killer going after Shawn. His plan was to do a few things at home, then head back to Shawn's to spend the night. He figured Shawn might actually feel more comfortable if someone was with him for a while. He had thought about having Shawn come by his house so they could stay the night there, but for some reason he was reluctant to have him over.

Despite admitting to himself that he loved Shawn he continued to struggle with how he felt.

In his bedroom he stopped by the nightstand long enough to check his cell phone to see if anyone had called. He put in a call to O'Hara explaining to her how things went with Shawn, passing along the little information he managed to get. Maybe if things went well tonight he would be able to dig a little deeper, get Shawn to open up more about Mark and what it was exactly that the detective did for him. And he refused, absolutely refused to be jealous of a dead man. What happened in Shawn's past was really none of his business. At that point in time it was not like Shawn was his property, he was free to love whoever he wanted.

So why did it bother him so much?

Because in a time of need Shawn opted for calling Mark instead of dialing him. Was it because after everything that transpired in the last few months Shawn was not capable of letting go of the way he treated him for years? Maybe Shawn did not believe he truly loved him, and he knew most of that was his fault. He was going to have to do something to show Shawn how he truly felt, that he really did love him, even if there were times when he wondered what the hell he was doing. He wanted to be the one Shawn called when the going got tough, when he needed help with something. Not some strange detective from another district.

Lassiter was in the process of getting dressed when he heard the sound of something out back. He frowned, crossing his room to peek out the window. With the sun setting in the distance a variety of shadows were thrown across the fenced in space. Nothing immediately caught his attention so he figured it must have been a rabbit or some other critter, not the sort of thing worth worrying about. When he finished dressing he stood before his dresser trying to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to bring a set of clothing with him to Shawn's. He might not get the chance to swing by his house in the morning for a change before heading to the precinct. In the end he decided a change of clothing might actually show Shawn he was serious about this…thing going on between them.

Something clattered loudly to the ground in the backyard as he retrieved a duffel bag from his closet. Once again he checked out the window and still saw nothing. Then the glint of something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The lid to his trashcan lay on the patio where he could have sworn it had not been a few minutes ago. He was meticulous about keeping it on the trash to keep away the critters who liked to track trash all over his yard. Swearing under his breath he grabbed his gun from where it rested on the nightstand and made his way down the stairs.

As he hit the first floor he heard his cell phone upstairs start to ring. He about turned around to go back and get it when a loud thump sounded from within the general direction of the garage. Lassiter made sure his gun was loaded. By now he figured a raccoon must be rooting around for a free meal and he planned on giving the annoying rodent a piece of his mind. Apparently the death of numerous squirrels meant absolutely nothing to the banded bandit.

With his gun at the ready, his cell phone ringing in the background, Lassiter opened the door in the kitchen leading to the garage. Only to find the cement floor empty of any and all critters. His car was out front in the driveway. He noticed, however, that the door leading into the yard was slightly open, enough space for a critter to get in and out without being noticed. He could have sworn he had locked the door the last time he used it weeks ago. Maybe he was imagining it, though, having had a lot to deal with over the last week or so. Muttering to himself about being more careful, he reached out to close the door when he thought he heard something behind him.

In the house.

"What the fuck," he grumbled under his breath.

He spun around with the intent of going back inside when the door leading outside suddenly swung open all the way. He could not move fast enough to raise his gun to stop the person on the other side, the person lurking outside. A hand grabbed hold of him, dragging him out of the garage. He struggled, lost his gun somewhere along the way, and was on the verge of making a huge amount of noise to alert his neighbors when he felt something solid connect with the back of his head. His attacker stepped back, put a little distance between them. Instantly Lassiter felt a blinding pain in his head, white spots dancing in his vision. He could already feel the familiarity of blood running down the back of his neck from the wound in his head.

An image of Shawn popped into his mind, and as the object hit him in the back of the head again all he could think about was Shawn staying safe.


	25. Waiting All my Life

AN: Profile update.

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: Waiting all my Life**

Shawn waited until the sun fell below the horizon before he started to get truly worried about Lassiter. He had been sitting on the couch with the telly on, not really watching the programs or listening to the droning voices, merely thinking about the path his life had taken. He was anxious to have Lassiter back in the apartment, definitely did not want to be spending any time alone. Mainly because it worried him that someone had traveled out this way to kill Mark. It broke his heart to know that a man that helped him through a few rough spots, the one person he could count on when he was stuck with Patrick, had been taken from him. And it was all his fault, no matter what Lassiter said to him, after all, he was the one who put in the call to Mark. He was the one who wanted Mark to pay him a visit.

The idea scared him. What if Mark had written down his address or something? The guy could very well be coming for him next. That was the thought that prompted him to start pacing the apartment. He went from window to window to make sure they were all locked, never mind the fact that he was not on the first floor of the apartment building. The time ticked by and with each passing hour he got more and more nervous. He tried calling Lassiter, not once, but at least three times. When his favorite detective failed to pick-up the phone he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew without a doubt that something had gone wrong. So he did the best thing he could think of.

He got on his bike and headed for his father's house.

Maybe he should have gone to talk with Jules or even paid a call to Gus. For some reason, however, he wanted to talk with his dad, see his old man. As he made the trip he kept tabs on the unmarked police car following his every move. Leave it up to Lassiter to place a cop on his apartment to keep tabs on him. In a way it made him feel a bit better, at least then if something happened to him someone would be there to help or to at least let the world know what happened. He made sure never to get too far away from the officer, who he figured had to be Buzz. Who else was Lassiter going to con into watching him?

Thankfully his father was still up.

"Shawn, to what-" his father started out when he opened the door to find Shawn standing there. One look at Shawn's face changed his course of questioning. "What's wrong, what happened?"

"Lassie, I can't get a hold of him," Shawn mumbled as he swept into the house. In a rush mannered he told his father about his day, about Mark and the promise Lassiter made to come back to his apartment. He sat on the couch feeling worse than he had in a long time. Could this whole mess have been avoided had he kept the truth to himself? It had not been lost on him, the pain in Lassiter's eyes, when he talked about calling Mark for help. He had hurt the detective, the one man he professed to love. Perhaps Lassiter was getting away, taking a break, trying to clear his head. After all, the detective did a piss poor job of hiding his true feelings, the constant way he seemed to be doing battle with himself. Shawn knew it all, saw the way Lassiter struggled with his feelings of love and annoyance, amongst others.

"Come on," Henry said, grabbing his keys. "I made a phone call. We're going to meet Juliet at Lassiter's house."

Shawn had not even realized his dad made a phone call, so lost in his own worries. Like a man on autopilot he fell into step behind his father, then climbed into the old truck, all the while feeling like the other shoe was about to drop. Something happened to Lassiter. Something that could have been avoided. And Shawn could not shake the sense that it was his fault, whatever happened, he brought this trouble knocking on Lassiter's front door. He clenched his hands into fists, set his jaw. He needed to stop fucking everything up. He needed to get his life back on track, stop being such a pain in the ass to everyone.

The drive to Lassiter's went by fast. Shawn noticed that by now Buzz was no longer trying to keep himself hidden. Jules must have placed a call to him or something along those lines. At least it was nice knowing that people cared enough about him to act on a hunch. He really should have been nicer to his friends, tried harder for them. He made a silent promise to himself as they pulled up in front of Lassiter's house to try harder, to find his way out of the darkness once and for all.

Jules greeted them with a somber expression. Shawn did not even have to ask her what was wrong, he could tell the news was going to break his heart. "He isn't here," she said as Buzz joined them. "I checked the house top to bottom. His gun and badge are still upstairs with his cell phone. There...well..." She averted her eyes, unable to look at him.

"What?" he wanted to know. "Tell me, Jules, please."

She gazed at him, sympathy in her eyes. "There is a bit of blood in the garage, Shawn. I'm sorry, it looks like someone must have caught him by surprise."

"You mean, he wasn't packing?" Henry tried to be lighthearted and serious all at once. "As long as I have known that man he always has a gun on him."

"Evidence he took a shower. I'm thinking it happened around that point," Jules explained.

Shawn looked at the house. "This is my fault," he whispered, gazing at the darkened windows. One light burned behind the curtains of a room on the second floor.

"Don't, Shawn, don't you go-" his father spoke.

Shawn interrupted him. "No. This is my fault and I'll be damned if someone is going to hurt Lassiter," he spoke with such conviction. "I waited too damn long for this...for someone to come along before I even have a chance with him. Whoever did this, if they even so much as bruise him, I am going to kick their ass."


	26. Who's Crying Now?

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Who's Crying Now  
**

He paced the room like a caged animal. Deep inside he wanted to get out, break free of the stupid room and tear into the person who put him here. His anger boiled through his blood. How foolish of the person who thought he could get away with attacking him, with locking him away in some room. Should the bastard be dumb enough to show his face Lassiter planned on giving him what for, really just letting him have it. All the anger he had been suppressing over the months was finally finding a suitable outlet. No more holding in, no more keeping it under lock and key out of fear he might do something to hurt Shawn. No, he was finally just going to let it take control. There was so much that had been left to fester, to rot. All the trouble with Patrick and the way that it was his fault Shawn ended up in the situation to begin with. The way he failed to protect Shawn all these months, letting him fall further and further into the darkness.

His hatred over Mark; which he did his best to keep from Shawn above anything else.

Though he would not admit it to anyone he was actually kind of happy Mark was gone, no longer a part of the picture. And it had nothing to do with jealousy, nothing to do with the possibility Shawn might have had feelings for the guy. No, it had everything to do with the Mark conducted things. Time and time again Shawn said the detective knew what his partner was doing, yet he stood by and let it happen. He arrived after the fact to pick-up the pieces instead of preventing anything more from happening. It rubbed Lassiter the wrong way.

And with Mark out the picture there was no reason to worry about Shawn going back to that forsaken place. Nobody to draw him back to a world of darkness, keep him mired in his memories.

As he made another circuit of the room he realized how truly terrible his thoughts were, how ugly and dark. Yet for some reason he did not care. All he could think about above everything else was Shawn. Lassiter pressed his back against one of the walls, his head hanging down, arms crossed over his chest. Shawn, the one person that used to bug the hell out of him was now the one person he wanted to be with every minute of every day. Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but he did want Shawn in his life. And he worried about him, a lot more than he might care to admit. He slid down the wall, resting on the balls of his feet, head in his hands. He should have been back to Shawn's place by now making sure he was safe from whoever it was who killed Mark.

Of course, the simple fact that he had been kidnapped had not been lost on him. He would bet his bottom dollar it was by the same person.

He realized, though, that whatever happened to him, he did not care. All he wanted was to make sure Shawn stayed away, that he kept a safe distance. Yeah, if anything happened to him it would most likely hurt Shawn a great deal, probably send him cascading back into the darkness he fought so hard to leave, but he deserved a chance to live. He wanted Shawn to live, wanted him to have every chance in the world to find his way back to the person he used to be, or at least as close as he could get given what happened to him.

Suddenly he felt like a failure, like he allowed this to happen to Shawn, for all of this to take place. If he had simply been kinder to him in the long run. Why did he always have to let his pride and his anger get in the way? Who was going to be there when Shawn realized something had happened to him, who was going to keep him from falling apart? With great friends like Burton and O'Hara he figured Shawn at least had a fighting chance at surviving. And with his father at his side, well, Lassiter knew Henry was the kind of guy that would give his life if it meant keeping Shawn safe. It was one of the things he liked about the older Spencer, one of the things Henry was pretty good at hiding. He actually laughed. Apparently he shared a few traits with Henry.

The laugh cut short as he remembered how kind Henry had been to him while Shawn lay in that hospital bed dead to the world. Henry had every right in the world to be rude to him, to make him feel like dirt, and yet he had gone out of his way to make him feel like family. All because Shawn loved him. Of all the people in the world Shawn loved him. What the hell was wrong with the kid? Why...why him, why not someone who could give him all the things he needed and rightly deserved?

He ran his hands over his face, up over his hair and let them come to rest on the back of his neck clasped together. He was beginning to feel lost, his anger burning away with each thought of Shawn and how much he wanted to be with him at his apartment. Anywhere with Shawn, anywhere but stuck in this damned room. He tried not to let the worrying thoughts take hold, but it was harder than he ever imagined. What was Shawn doing right now? Had he come to the conclusion that something bad happened? Or could Shawn possibly think he no longer cared, that he was running while he still had the chance, before it all got to be too much?

What if he managed to make it through this mess only to find Shawn had gone and done something to himself?

Alone in the room Lassiter fell the rest of the way to the floor, burying his head in his hands as a stray tear worked its way down his cheek.


	27. You Always Hurt

**Chapter Twenty-Seven:** **You Always Hurt**

Shawn absently sipped the pineapple smoothie, checking his watch for the umpteenth time. Outside the sun show brightly, people walked around enjoying their time and the company of friends. Meanwhile he was sitting in one of the chairs near the big window in the Psych office. He was trying not to think about Lassiter and the current progress of the case. The cops had been scouring Lassiter's house for the last few hours in hopes of turning up some evidence, any evidence to point them in the right direction. Unfortunately, whoever took Lassiter left behind absolutely nothing. All they could tell was that the guy came in through the backyard and entered the house through the side garage door. Somehow he managed to get the best of Lassiter; which bothered Shawn the most. Since when did his lover not have his gun handy? He could not remember the last time he saw Lassiter without one.

He grumbled as he took another sip of the smoothie, yet again checking his watch. Only a minute or two had passed. He was on the verge of getting up and doing something, anything, when he heard the door open. He practically jumped out of the chair. A second later Gus walked into sight looking like his usual self in a polo shirt and khakis. As soon as he saw him Shawn realized how much he had been neglecting his best friend. In all that he had been through he turned to Lassiter instead of Gus. For a moment he felt like such a heel, after all Gus had seen him through so much. The two of them were supposed to be as thick as thieves. Though he never really cared for that saying since there was no honor amongst thieves.

"Shawn, I heard about Lassiter, I'm sorry," were the first words out of Gus's mouth.

Shawn brushed them away. "We have work to do."

"Work?" Gus frowned. "How can you possibly be thinking about work? I mean, don't get me wrong, it'll be fun to open the place back up, but aren't you forgetting-"

"Nothing," interrupted Shawn, sucking on the smoothie straw to drain the last of the precious pineapple flavor from the cup. "Why do you think I called you here, buddy? We're going to find Lassiter. Who better for the job, since they can't seem to find anything. I know the man better than they do...and this probably has something to do with me," Shawn frowned, tossing the now empty cup into the trash. When he glanced at Gus he shook his head. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"You know, the look."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"That you-have-gone-completely-crazy-look," explained Shawn. "Went crazy a long time ago," he muttered searching through the crap on his desk. The office had been spotless when he showed up, a good sign that Gus had been by the place while he was stuck in the dark of his recent past. But it took him little more than twenty minutes to completely mess up the place.

Gus leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "And how exactly do you plan on finding him?"

"I...uh..." Shawn frowned. "I actually have no idea. Unless..."

He continued to root through the paperwork and other things located on his desk, tossing a few random items into his desk drawer, including a set of LEGOs. When he found what he was looking for he walked back over to the window and held it up. A small piece of paper. Gus was quiet while he watched Shawn do whatever it was Shawn was doing, though he recognized the face his friend was making, the one he always made when he saw a clue. And when he turned back to face Gus there was a slightly troubling look on his face.

"Something wrong?"

Shawn handed him the slip of paper. It was small, about the size of a half dollar coin, and blackened around the edges. "What is this?"

"I found it at Lassiter's," he explained. "Thought it was nothing at first but...when you hold it up to the light you can see the writing. I know the writing, Gus."

"And?"

"It's Mark's."

Gus looked from Shawn to the piece of paper back to Shawn. Mark's writing on a slip of burnt paper in Lassiter's house. What exactly did it mean, Gus wondered. Had Lassiter picked it up from the crime scene or accidentally tracked it back to his house? Or...no, Lassiter may have had anger issues but Gus could not actually see him killing someone. Though there had been a few times he thought Lassiter might kill Shawn. Things had changed. Then he figured it out, a little slow on the draw after spending most of his last few months selling pharmaceuticals instead of solving crimes. He slowly shook his head, denying the possibility.

"The person who killed Mark has Lassiter," Gus practically whispered.

"My thoughts exactly."

"But who would have it in for Mark?"

Shawn actually rolled his eyes. "Come on, buddy, the man put bad guys behind bars. But I can already tell you none of them had anything to do with this." Gus looked at him, his next question so easy to guess that Shawn answered him before he could even ask it. "Lassiter had nothing to do with the criminals Mark put away. So the question is, what do the two of them have in common?"

"Other than both of them being cops?"

"Me," Shawn said, a flicker of emotion appearing in his eyes. It was so quick Gus failed to identify it. "I am the only thing the two of them have in common."


	28. Bad Idea

Bit of profile tweeking...

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-eight:** **Bad Idea**

"I don't really know about this, Shawn," Gus whined a slight bit. He was looking up and down the sidewalk like someone might come upon them at any moment. And if their luck happened to turn sour it most assuredly would go that way. Shawn was willing to take the risk of being discovered. He needed to get into the fenced off enclosure in order to reach his first big lead. "I mean, we have done some pretty crazy things, but this...We could get in a lot of trouble, Shawn."

"Stop being a crybaby, Gus," Shawn said, eying the fence. Who had the bright idea of putting a chainlink fence around the property? Didn't they know that it was the easiest type of fence to climb, especially without putting barbed wire along the top? He grabbed a fistful of the fence, then another, and before Gus could start protesting again he was swinging his legs over the top and dropping down on the other side. Once inside he gave Gus a good look. "Come on, we don't have all day."

"I don't want to get arrested," Gus grumbled, working his way up and over the fence.

Shawn scoffed. "That's what you're worried about? Dude, my boyfriend is head detective." Shawn fell silent. Had he just referred to Lassiter as his boyfriend? A shiver ran down his spine. It was the first time he let the word slip in regards to the situation between him and the head detective. Could he really consider Lassiter to be his boyfriend, though? It was not like they sat down to have a deep discussion about the whole thing. He frowned, falling into his thoughts and forgetting about his plan.

A dog started barking and Gus nearly jumped out of his skin. "Shawn, earth to Shawn," he snapped his fingers.

"Hm?" Shawn responded pulling out of his thoughts. Then he remembered what he was doing. He turned his back on Gus, on the sidewalk and looked out over the expanse of property. A piece of land owned by the Santa Barbara Police Department. A place where they liked to keep big pieces of evidence, mainly cars, and in the maze of mangled wrecks he hoped to find the car that belonged to Mark. The car he had the privilege of riding in once or twice. A car where he once broke down in tears as he tried to figure out where his life was going. He did not particularly like thinking of that night.

He struck out across the lot looking at every burned car he could possibly find. Some of the wrecks made him cringe as he tried not to imagine what it must have been like for the unfortunate soul inside. One car in particular had been wrapped completely in some sort of clear plastic. Shawn let his eyes glaze over the blood splattered front windshield, the gaping hole and spidering where the bullet went through the glass. He heard Gus gag in disgust. He pressed on, making his way deeper into the yard. If he had done his calculations right, and he was quite sure that he had, the guard would be making his rounds on the other side of the lot leaving him enough time to finish on this side. By the time he worked round to the other side the guard would be walking where he was at that exact moment. A circle that should prevent them from running across each other. Of course, he wasn't exactly sure what he planned on doing once he found the car.

Gus followed behind him muttering about how he was too pretty to go to jail and that he did not want to end up being some dude's girlfriend.

Shawn chose to ignore him.

It took him nearly an hour before he located the car. He was standing beside a Jeep when he spotted the very familiar blue sedan a yard away. At the sight of it, the blackened paint created by the fire, he felt his stomach do a somersault. Suddenly he wanted nothing to do with the car, started to see this plan from Gus's point of view. But by now he knew it was too late to change his mind. For one thing, if he did, Gus would never let him hear the end of it and would harp on it all the way home. Probably bring it up here and there like an angry partner in a marriage. Thinking of Lassiter and what he might be able to gleam from the car, he steeled his spine and headed toward it. By now Gus had fallen quiet.

Shawn placed a hand on the hood, then thought better of it, pulling it back.

He slipped around the side and found the passenger door unlocked. He frowned, how odd. Even a few days after the fire the car still stank and the stench that wafted out over him when he opened the door made him wrinkle his nose. Gus quietly took up the roll of watchman keeping an eye out for the roving guard. Shawn sat on the charred seat, his mind going back in time, his stomach churning as the memory played out. He recalled it in perfect clarity, the way he had been sitting in this very seat, Mark behind the wheel. It had been a bad night with Patrick and he had used Mark as an escape. It was a night Mark urged him to leave, to just get the hell out of dodge. He could always get his stuff later. But being his typical stubborn self Shawn decided to stick it out. And the next night Patrick nearly killed him.

"Pssst," Gus's insistent hissing cut into his thoughts, chasing away the memory. Shawn glanced in his direction. "The guard is coming, let's get the hell out of here."

The memory having completely faded away Shawn began to quickly search the interior of the car. At first he turned up nothing, after all, the forensic guys had already been over the thing with a fine toothed comb. However, they did not know a lick about Mark and his habits. Shawn began rooting around in the crack between the driver's seat and the armrest. And promptly hit pay-dirt. How the forensic guys missed the little object was beyond him, but truly a blessing. With it clutched tightly in his hand he climbed out of the car, closed the door as quietly as possible, and gestured for Gus to follow him.

They probably got out of the lot mere seconds from being spotted. Despite his earlier response to Gus's worries he wasn't so sure he could keep them out of jail. They were messing with evidence. Not like they hadn't done it before, but still, without Lassiter around there was no guarantee things would not go down hill fast. Once back on the sidewalk Shawn slowly opened his hand to have a look at the object, and felt the chill pass over his body.

"What?" Gus suddenly inquired having noticed the subtle change in his friend. "What is it, Shawn?" He leaned in to look at the object. "What the hell is that?"

"A...charm, from a necklace," Shawn answered in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Maybe he had a chick in his car-"

Shawn was already shaking his head, his heart hammering away in his chest. "No. I know it by heart and it did not belong to a girl." He saw the charm nestled against bare flesh, dark next to the skin. Cool to the touch. Always there, never to be removed. He often toyed with it, at least in the beginning. He got to know it by heart, began to hate the sight of the damned thing.

"Shawn?"

"Patrick. Patrick wore this charm."


	29. Round and Round

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Round and Round**

Lassiter found himself desperate to know how much time had passed. He could not help but worry about Shawn. It was the strangest thing for him to admit, that he was actually worried about someone who used to drive him crazy. Now Shawn drove him crazy in an entirely different way. He spent time pacing the room in which he been locked looking for a way out, all the while thinking about Shawn. Was Shawn going to be okay or would he completely lose it, freak out, do something stupid? There had been so much bad in his life in the last year or so that it seemed unfair. When was Shawn going to get a run of good luck, a chance to find happiness again? The more time he spent thinking about Shawn the angrier he grew at the person responsible for locking him away from the world, taking him from the one he desperately wanted to save.

And then he heard the sound of footsteps headed in his general direction. He froze, his eyes trained on the door. Some inner voice chimed to life causing him to look around the room in search of potential weapons. Nothing, unless he could figure out how to kill a guy with a piece of cardboard. Given more time he might just do it, too. He braced himself for the potential confrontation, measuring the sound of the footsteps as they drew ever closer to the door. He never went down without a fight, never let someone get the upper hand. Except for maybe with Shawn, but that was entirely different. Especially now.

Someone slipped a key into the lock, the click deafening in the otherwise silent room.

Slowly the door opened, the rusted hinges creaking, the swollen wood rubbing across the floor.

And Lassiter felt his heart skip a beat as the world stopped moving. The man standing before him, it was impossible. He felt the color drain from his face. There was no way, it could not be, he shook his head in disbelief. It was like a ghost had entered the room. Everything about the man was a perfect fit to Patrick, but how could it be? He must have finally snapped, lost his mind with a need for food and being locked in a gloomy room for countless days.

"Why Detective Lassiter," the man spoke, the timber of his voice sending chills down Lassiter's spine, "you look positively grave."

"This...this isn't possible," Lassiter stammered. He had been waiting to get into an argument with his kidnapper, to be a real pain in the ass the best way he knew how. That plan crashed to the ground the minute the door opened.

"And yet..." the guy shrugged, smiling like the creep he truly was.

Lassiter shook his head. "No, I shot you," he defended his actions, pulled forth the memory of the incident on the side of the road. Patrick was going to kill him to make Shawn suffer, to get rid of the person that came between him and the man he loved to torture. But Lassiter pulled the trigger first, he made it out alive. "You're dead. I put a bullet in your head."

"How well did that work out for you, hm?"

Lassiter felt like he was on the verge of losing it, nothing making sense. Then he remembered clearly the day he walked into the precinct, a day after he got out of the hospital where some doctor wanted to keep him under observation. Damn head trauma. He recalled how Chief Vick had been waiting patiently for him, something about taking a trip with her down to the morgue. Something she wanted him to see. His heart had nearly stopped that day as well, thoughts of Shawn having died in the hospital crossing his mind. But instead, resting on the metal table under the sheet, was the body of Patrick. The bullet had played ping-pong in his head, shredded his brain in a manner of speaking. The guy had died. Lassiter saw him on the table with his own two eyes. So how the hell could he be standing before him this very moment?

"I saw your body," he said, finding his way back to earth, the shock wearing off, and his anger returning. "Patrick is dead. I have no earthly clue who the fuck you are, but I know for a fact that I killed him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Lassiter practically shouted.

"Then maybe you have gone crazy. Maybe you are losing your mind, detective."

"Get the hell out of here."

The Patrick-look alike held up a rather sharp looking knife. "No can do, not yet anyway. You see, I came here for a specific reason. There's a little something I need to take from you."

That was when things started to get serious. Lassiter tried to get around the guy to the open door behind him, but the lack of food and water had weakened him considerably. The two got into a bit of a fight, more like a shoving match, the other guy slipping something out of his pocket. Lassiter had only moment to see the needle coming before he felt the tip pierce his skin. His mind went into instant overdrive thinking up all the terrible things the guy could inject into his body and what he might do afterward. He prayed in the long run that if he was going to end up dead that the drug was enough to knock him out. Then he thought of Shawn and shoved at the guy with what strength he had left. The Patrick look alike stumbled, nearly losing his footing. Lassiter grasped the oppertunity, racing out the door into another room. It looked like a desolate rundown apartment, the drywall crumbling, water stains marking the ceiling. He could see a door in the distance almost within reach, a door that promised to lead outside.

But his vision began to blur.

His head felt heavy.

And it felt like he was moving through molasses.

He heard his kidnapper laughing somewhere behind him as he fell to his knees, any attempt to get free now gone. The guy came up beside him with the knife, laughing as the blade flashed in front of Lassiter's face. A second later he screamed.


	30. Wishing

**Chapter Thirty: Wishing  
**

Shawn paced the Psych office with his arms crossed over his chest. To say he was furious would have been an understatement. Chief Vick made it perfectly clear that he was to have no hand in trying to find Lassiter. She heard about his little trip into the police impound lot. She had yelled at him before, said some pretty unpleasant things, but he had never seen her this way before. Apparently he put a few cases in jeopardy by traipsing around through the vacant cars, some of which were evidence in ongoing cases. His mind flashed back to the car with the bullet pierced front window. No doubt someone had lost their life because of the bullet and now a killer might get off free all 'cause he wanted to track down Lassiter. Being prevented from doing something by Chief Vick never used to be a problem. He could always rope Gus into helping him work a case under the chief's nose in hopes of finding a shred of evidence to win her over.

Not this time.

His father, now working in cahoots with the police department, set down his foot. Jules? She refused to share any information regarding what they turned up in the house. It irked him. The two of them used to get on so well and he figured that of everyone she would want him on the case. She knew he was good at what he did, good at solving the most baffling of cases. And Gus, even Gus was not willing to back him on this one. At least that was what he assumed since he'd been calling his best friend all day only to get no response. Stuck with no leads and unable to break into Lassiter's house- round the clock surveillance put in place mainly to keep him at bay- he was unsure of where to go next.

Still, he had one thing the police did not possess; the charm.

If only he could figure out what the stupid thing meant. How could it be possible for the charm to be in the car with Mark when it belonged to Patrick? Was there something about the two he knew nothing about, a level of closeness kept secreted away by both detectives? Frustrated he sank into one of the chairs near the window, pulling the charm from his pocket. He had put it on a piece of cord he found lying around on his desk. He let it dangle from between his fingers, the light of the sun causing it to shimmer and sparkle. He used to love the way it looked against Patrick's bare chest. Now the simple sight of the thing churned his stomach. Not all of the things that went on between him and Patrick had been bad. There were some good times, moments of laughter, moments when he felt loved.

"Love," he uttered the word with pure disgust. "Love is not born from fear."

"I think that may be the smartest thing you have ever said," Gus said as he strolled into the room.

Shawn glared in his direction. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy," explained Gus, falling into the other chair. "I do have another job."

"You should have been here with me."

"Doing what?"

Shawn grumbled incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't know," he answered more firmly, letting his hand fall to his lap. He clenched his fingers around the charm hiding it from sight. He was mad and taking it out on Gus; which was wrong. He knew it, too. Sighing, he closed his eyes long enough to let the anger flow from his body. What the hell was he doing? Since when did he just sit by and let the cops dictate the moves he made? He should have been out running around the city searching out leads. The old Shawn would have found a way into Lassiter's house without being seen or merely by convincing the officers watching the place he desperately needed to be inside. Suddenly he jumped out of his chair, startling Gus. "No more sitting around. It's time to get off my ass and find my Lassie-face."

Gus stood, a grin on his face. "I was waiting for you to say that."

"You were?" inquired Shawn with a cocked eyebrow.

"Duh. Come on, Shawn, the man you love is out there somewhere," he gestured with his hand, "and you are moping. You never listen to Chief Vick or your father. I say we tear the city apart and find Lassiter."

"Got that right," Shawn smiled. Then for the first time in almost a year he held out his fist. Without hesitation Gus bumped his fist. They used to do it all the time and it wasn't until that moment Shawn realized how much he missed it. How much he missed everything. Running off on cases with Gus, thinking up some crazy name for his best friend. The trips to the precinct to aggravate Lassiter. Even getting into fights with his father, the one thing he never thought he would miss. All of it, his life the way it had been, the life he let Patrick take from him, he wanted it back. It was time he got it back.

With a new determination he set off for the parking lot knowing Gus would fall in behind him. He spotted Gus' blue car parked outside the office, and beside was Lassiter's unmarked car. For a moment he felt his heart skip a beat as he expected to see the man he loved waiting for him. Instead he spotted Jules leaning against the car, an odd look on her face. Suddenly he wanted to run back into the office. The strength and determination that had gone through his body mere seconds ago had faded, disappeared completely. The fear came roaring back into his life. What the hell was she doing waiting for him? What the hell could have happened to bring her 'round to this place after barring him from the case?

"Hey Juliet," Gus said a tad too cheerfully for Shawn's liking.

She smiled, a grim, unhappy smile. "Hey."

"What happened?" Shawn demanded. "Why are you here? Is he...is Lassiter..."

"Shawn, I need you to come down to the station."


	31. Nothing Like This

**Chapter Thirty-one: Nothing Like This  
**

Shawn waited somewhat impatiently inside the interrogation room. Why they could not leave him in the comfort of Chief Vick's office was beyond him. Why did they feel the need to shuffle him away into this...cold room? He looked around at the less-than-friendly walls, the battered table with its matching chairs. Was someone standing on the other side of the two-way mirror? A few times the idea of leaving, walking right out the door crossed his mind. He even went so far as to grasp the doorknob with the full intent of leaving. The more time he wasted in this forsaken place the further away Lassiter got. Every minute counted, at least in his book. Shouldn't they be worried about their colleague? Shouldn't they care that someone had napped Lassiter and taken him to who knows where?

Hugging himself close he finally gave up pacing the room and leaned into one of the corners. Talking with Gus in the Psych office had made him feel...well, like his old self again. The Shawn everyone wanted him to be. There had been a high, a sense of direction, finally something he could deal with, and when he stepped out of the office to see Juliet waiting for him, it all went right out the window. He closed his eyes, his breathing measured all in an attempt to keep from freaking out. The tone of her voice, it told him more than he ever cared to know. He saw it in the way she walked. She had something to tell him, words he was not going to want to hear. Instantly he thought about Lassiter, then his mind flashed to Mark and the horrible way he died. What had this person done to his Lassiter?

He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying. It still made very little sense to him. How could it be that this moron got his hands on Lassiter? He just could not wrap his hands around it. For as long as he had known Lassiter the man never went anywhere without his gun. The few times he spent in Lassiter's house he saw him go shower with his gun in hand, no doubt leaving it on the counter by the sink. So how was it that someone managed to get a hold of him, to find him the one time he slipped up in his own protection? For the first time since he could remember he wanted a chance to yell at Lassiter, to give him a piece of his mind. How the hell could Lassiter let this happen? How could he slip up and wind up in the hands of some man with an intent to kill people Shawn knew?

His fault.

Yet again it was all his fault.

He kicked the wall, frustrated, mad. All these terrible things kept happening because of him, no one else. Had he managed to stay in Santa Barbara to being with instead of running off in an attempt to heal his broken heart, none of this would have happened. There would have no meeting Patrick. No being beaten within inches of his life. No dragging those new problems back to his old life. Mark would still be alive. And Lassiter would be right here with him instead of out there somewhere.

Suddenly the door opened and he practically jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound. His father, of all people, strolled into the room, slowly closing the door behind him. Shawn felt his heart beat a bit faster. His father indicated the chairs, avoiding making eye contact with Shawn. Forcing himself to walk across the room he pulled back one of the chairs and sat in it heavily, well aware he was on the verge of having a completely emotional breakdown. This could not be happening, they could not be sitting at this table about to speak of things he never wanted to hear in his life.

"Shawn-"

"Is he dead?" Shawn interuperted not wanting to play around the issue.

His dad locked eyes with him and Shawn felt his heart jump into his throat. The look in his father's eyes, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. They were the eyes of someone carrying bad news, the sort of news no one wanted to hear. Shawn pushed his chair back shaking his head refusing to believe anything bad happened to Lassiter. This was not happening. His world was not about to fall apart, to shatter into many tiny pieces he would never be able to piece back together. He felt the tears flowing down his cheeks as he fell to his knees. His chest felt tight making it harder to breathe. In a flash his father was up on his feet and around the table falling to the floor beside him, a hand on his back.

"Shawn," he started, then drew him close, wrapping him in his arms. Shawn cried into his shirt. "Shawn, you have to listen to me, please."

"Dad..." he sobbed.

"I know," Henry whispered lovingly. "I know how much it hurts, Shawn."

He gripped the back of his father's shirt in his hands holding on to him for dear life. "No...he can't..."

"Shawn, you have to stop. You have to listen to me."

Not wanting to hear another word Shawn suddenly pushed his father away. He climbed to his feet finding the small room to be suffocating. He had to get away, to leave this place and the memories it brought to the surface. Without saying a thing he raced out of the room, his heart broken, shattered. Behind him he heard his father yelling his name. He saw Gus and Jules and Buzz and Chief Vick gathered in a somber small group. He raced by them, not stopping. He continued to run right out the precinct and down the stairs, no destination in mind. He had to get away, to find a way to escape the pain. Because this was not happening...


	32. I Quit

A/N: Profile update.

**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-two: I Quit**

He must have wandered around Santa Barbara for hours, no particular destination in mind. Every time he spotted a patrol car he ducked out of sight half expecting them to be cruising the streets and keeping an eye out for him. Like they had nothing more important to do. After about the fifth time he gave up, no longer caring. The next police cruiser went right by, passed him without the slightest sign of hesitation. It must have all been in his mind, the silly notion his running from the precinct might actually spark some worry. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans he kept walking, probably doing a great deal of circles without even being aware of it. For the most part he kept his eyes trained on the ground doing his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

Eventually he raised his eyes, having wandered from the downtown area to a more residential setting. As he had a look around he slowed, the surrounding area overly familiar. A few steps later he found himself standing in front of Lassiter's house. It sent a shiver down his back to see the place so...empty. Not that he expected it to be a hive of activity, after all, Lassiter spent the vast majority of his time at the precinct. This was not the house of a man who invited his neighbors over to have cookouts and other friendly, neighborly things. Shawn actually glanced over his shoulder at the house across the street. What did the people living there think of Lassiter? Did they even know anything about him? Surely by now they must be aware he was missing, but did anyone besides himself truly care? His focus turned back to Lassiter's dwelling. With a heavy heart he started up the walkway.

As he suspected the door had been sealed. The warning that the house was a crime scene brought a fresh tear to his eye. And here he thought he had completely cried himself out. Of all the places he thought he might encounter the warning this had been one of the last on his list. It still baffled him that someone managed to get the jump on Lassiter. His lover...no, they never got the chance to be anything that deep. Shawn placed the palm of his hand on the front door, the smoothness of the wood under his hand cool, cold. Of all the things he desired the most in the world Lassiter made the top of his list. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching he quickly ducked out of sight, going 'round to the back of the house. He knew it was wrong before he even did it, yet it did not matter to him. Who cared at this point if he broke the law? What did he have left to lose?

He broke into the house, something he joked about doing once or twice with Gus. Now here he was actually doing it. Inside he leaned against the back door, one hand still on the doorknob. The eerie silence of the house circled around him. Shawn inhaled deeply. The place smelled clean. Too clean. Keeping away from the windows so as not to draw attention to himself Shawn made his way through the house. Never before had he felt like such a stranger. In a way he had come to think of this place as sort of a second home, or at least it might very well have been if he had been given a chance. At the foot of the stairs he stopped, a hand on the railing. Could he gather the courage to go up? Did he want to experience the pain he knew he would feel if he should make it to Lassiter's bedroom? Pain, at least with pain he knew he could still feel. The world had not yet made him numb.

With a mixture of emotions he made his way up the stairs, each one a final step toward the end. What end he did not know. Like a person in a haunted house waiting for the next monster to jump out from behind a closed door he walked the hallway. He stopped a foot away from Lassiter's bedroom door, drawing a deep breath. When he rounded the corner he felt his heart skip a beat. It was like the world had stood still. He saw the towel thrown on the bed where Lassiter had left it. He ran his fingers along it. Lassiter came here to shower. He was meant to come back and never made it. Another tear moved slowly down his cheek. On the nightstand he spotted one of the guns Lassiter never went anywhere without. Seeing it made him frown. Why would the cops have left it behind? Shouldn't they have taken it into the precinct as evidence or at least to keep from falling into the wrong hands?

Shawn made a move toward it, then stopped. No, he was not going to touch the gun. Turning his back on it he walked toward the bathroom, slipped through the doorway. He dared to flip on the light. The place smelled like Lassiter. His aftershave, his cologne. A stab of pain shot through Shawn. This had been a terribly bad idea. What possessed him to come here of all places? The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of someone he could not have, someone he had been so close...He shook the thoughts from his mind. Ducking out the bathroom he returned to the bed where he settled on the mattress. He ran a hand over the blanket. He tried not to think of sleeping beside Lassiter.

Digging into his pocket he pulled out a small object. The charm. He glared at it, his sorrow turning to anger at the sight of the stupid thing. "This is all your fault," he uttered through clenched teeth. "You did this to me. You...you told me so many lies, tried to cover up the darkness within yourself by whispering words of love. And in the end all you did was hurt me. Deeply. You're supposed to be gone," he nearly shouted. "And yet somehow you manage to take away the one last thing I have worth clinging to."

Frustrated, broken hearted, angry, Shawn got up off the bed, flinging the charm across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. He turned his back on the bedroom door, walking toward a window that looked out over the street. "All I ever wanted was for him to love me. Why was it so hard?" he whispered, fresh tears coursing down his cheeks. "Why couldn't he love me?"

Thinking about everything that had happened over the last few months, the year or so, he found himself growing numb inside. A void slowly eating away at him. Closing his eyes he saw an image of the gun resting on the nightstand. He tried once before to end everything and it had been Lassiter who rescued him. Not this time. Lassiter was not going to come through the door and make everything all right with the world. And the others? They hadn't even bothered to come looking for him. They were too caught up in other things to care about how lost he had become. He was finally starting to get his feet back on firm ground when Lassiter went missing, when his father delivered the horrible news. And now...now what did it matter?

"I quit," he muttered, the words little more than a whisper. He realized how strange that statement sounded coming from him. Since when did he give up on anything? "I'm sorry," this time he spoke a bit louder. "I can't do this anymore. I just...can't. I quit."

"I can't let you do that," an oddly familiar voice said from behind him. Shawn froze, his heart practically stopping as the blood drained from his face. "If you go and off yourself where would the fun be for me?"


	33. Of The Past

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Of the Past  
**

Turning slowly Shawn faced the man who had managed to get the drop on him. When he first laid eyes on the man in the doorway he could have sworn he was looking at a ghost. Patrick come back from the grave to haunt him a bit longer. He felt as though the world had stopped, as though it stood completely still. Was the universe having a joke at his expense? How could it even be possible for Patrick to be standing in Lassiter's bedroom? He knew for a fact that Patrick had died by a gunshot wound. He had seen the death certificate, the obituary, even read the coroner's report. A bit morbid, maybe something a few select people in his life might not want him doing, yet he wanted the closure. He wanted to know for a fact that Patrick had finally died.

That there was no way for Patrick to come back and ruin the rest of his life.

Now he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. How could it be that Patrick stood before him? All reason told him that there was no way in hell that the man was the guy he used to love. But his eyes saw what they saw and refused to accept the knowledge lurking within his brain. And then the guy moved. Shawn took a step back, hitting the windowsill, unable to go any further. The answer to the man's identity came to him in that moment, right then and there. He may have sounded like Patrick, may have looked like him, but the way he walked, it was different. Shawn watched Patrick walk away, used to quite enjoy the thrill of it, so he knew the walk of his former lover.

The man before him was a dead ringer for Patrick, but not the man who ruined his life.

Shawn watched as the Patrick look alike bent down to retrieve the charm. He examined it, then let his eyes drift up to Shawn. "You know where he got this? I gave it to him one year. We had spent the whole day down at the beach and I wanted to help him remember. I bought it for him. And he wore it every day thereafter. I think he knew what it meant to me."

"You…" Shawn muttered, a long forgotten conversation popping into his head. In the discussion of his past life Patrick tended to be very quiet. He never wanted to talk about his parents or what it had been like growing up with a police officer as a father. Another thing they shared in common. But one night, after drinking a bit too much, Patrick let it slip, a tidbit of his past. "His brother, his younger brother."

The man smiled. "Bingo."

"Why, why are you here?"

Shawn watched him pocket the charm, noticing the gun held firmly in the other hand. "Honestly, because you took him away from me. He was my whole world and you destroyed it," he practically yelled. "I loved him, worshiped the ground he walked on. And then you came waltzing into his life. You, your presence, ruined everything. He would still be alive if it wasn't for you. I tried to tell him," the man continued, now gesturing with the gun, "nobody was ever going to be good enough for him. Nobody was ever going to love him the way I did."

A sick sensation washed over Shawn as he read between the lines. It appeared as though there was more to Patrick's life then even he could fathom. A little brother who looked up to him to the point he fell in love, became infatuated. A little brother who wanted his older brother for himself, to keep him away from the world. Shawn felt like throwing up. What a sick twisted family. What had gone terribly wrong in their lives as children that one thought it okay to beat on people and the other developed incestuous feelings for his sibling?

"I don't know what you think your brother was," Shawn started, trying to think of a way to get out of the room, "but he was a nasty person."

"Don't you say that," the brother shouted.

"He hurt me," Shawn yelled back, his anger coming to the surface. He was so damn tired of Patrick having control of his life, it was time he took back the reins. "He was an asshole and he deserved to die."

"Shut up," the brother pointed the gun in his direction.

A small part of Shawn was happy, wanted him to pull the trigger and make the world go away. What did he have left to live for at this point? If this maniac wanted to put him in the ground, wanted so desperately to finish what his older brother started, then so be it. He was tired of fighting to get out of the darkness only to find it had consumed him once again. At least he would go out knowing he faced his demons, knowing he had made a stand.

On impulse he pulled up the hem of his shirt to reveal the scar on his side. "You see this," he pointed at it. "I have this for the rest of my life because of your brother. He did this to me. He tried to take my life!"

The brother stormed across the room, grabbing Shawn by the collar of his shirt and pointing the gun at his head. "You're lying. My brother was a great man. A respectable man. You ruined his life. And I will make sure you pay for it the way that his partner did and your new lover."

At the mention of Lassiter, the confirmation that this man had done something to Lassiter, Shawn broke. The last of his will just gave out. He saw no way out of it. Had he been followed by the others they surely would have stormed the house by now to save him. But there was nobody. Just him and the maniac pressing a gun to his head. Shawn felt deflated, defeated. Finally he was going to get the way out he had been desperately searching for, and by letting Patrick's brother kill him he did not have to leave behind a well of guilt for those who loved him. They would not spend the rest of their days wondering what they could have done to keep him from taking his own life. A murder victim, dying at the hands of an angered man, it helped to take away the burden, to ease the weight on his shoulders.

"Just do it," Shawn whispered, close to tears again. "Just fucking do it already."

"My pleasure," the brother smiled.

When the gun went off Shawn expected to feel searing pain somewhere in his body, or to have the world just cease to exist. Instead he felt nothing save for his own tears. The look on the brother's face changed from one of rage to one of surprise. And then he was falling toward the carpet. Shawn looked toward the bedroom door to see Jules standing there with her gun pointed at the downed man. A heartbeat later his father appeared behind her. So they did care, they did come after him.

And in the process they prolonged his agony, the suffering he was going to have to face now that Lassiter was long gone.

Shawn slid to the floor, hugging his knees tight as he let the tears stream down his cheeks. Patrick's brother lay on the floor moaning in pain as Jules made a call for an ambulance and retrieved the fallen gun. Henry walked into the room, stepping over the fallen man to get to his son. Without saying anything he sat beside Shawn, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him close.


	34. All Through the Night

**Chapter Thirty-Four: All Through the Night  
**

Oddly enough he wanted to remain at Lassiter's house while they dealt with the issue of Patrick's brother. Shawn watched as they carted him off in an ambulance, one of the EMTs remarking on how lucky the dude was to be alive. His partner said something about him dying before the night was over. In reality, Shawn could care less about what happened to Patrick's younger brother. Everything in the world had been taken from him leaving him feeling empty, numb inside. Without Lassiter he saw no point to things. Without Lassiter why would he bother carrying on with the Psych business? In fact, he saw little point in staying in the Santa Barbara area. Yeah, he had the love of his father and good friends like Jules and Gus, but they could not give to him what he wanted most.

Nobody could.

Eventually he let his father lead him from the house, sticking him in the passenger seat of the pick-up truck. His father remained quiet on the drive to wherever he was headed. Shawn did not care. He let his head lull to the side, his forehead resting against the cool glass of the passenger window. It should have unnerved him to some degree that his father opted to stay quiet. Not one word had passed between them since he showed up in the doorway behind Jules and tried his best to comfort his son. And for that reason Shawn felt a twinge of anger. How was the silence supposed to help him cope with losing the man he loved, a love he never even got the chance to explore?

The sky grew darker as the hours fell into the night. He figured his father would take him back to the house, treat him with kid gloves for the next few days, then finally tell him to buck up and get on with his life. Much to his surprise, however, he found them pulling into the parking lot of the precinct. Definitely one of the last places he wanted to see on this evening. Or ever again, come to think of it. His life changed the first day he crossed paths with Lassiter. Every time he walked through the front door he would have a flash of memory back to that day and today did not let him down. The memory of how Lassiter reacted to the things he said, it used to bring a smile to his face, the way he could get Lassiter's skin without much effort.

Now it brought him nothing but sadness.

"I just have to deal with something," his father said, shuffling him into the precinct. He directed Shawn toward Lassiter's desk. There used to be a time when he lived to sit at that particular desk and mess with the items atop it. Now he hated the sight of it, opting instead to sit in Jules' chair. His father disappeared from sight with the promise that he would return and take Shawn home. He was quite content to sit there in the silence of his depression when he spotted the corner of a file stuck fast underneath another. The reason this one caught his attention was because he saw part of Lassiter's name.

Without bothering to see if anyone was watching he plucked the case file free and peeled it open. A picture stared back at him. A picture of Lassiter's badge. He would know the number on the gold shield anywhere. Though he could have sworn Jules said something about it being in the bedroom when they first searched the property. Hadn't she said it was sitting beside the gun? Well, he distinctly remembered seeing the revolver on the nightstand. The same place Lassiter placed his badge when going to bed. She lied; she had to have been lying to him, hiding the painful truth.

Could they have known all along Lassiter was dead?

A tear trickled down his cheek. In the picture the once golden shield, always polished with a measure of pride, had been turned a shade of crimson. Every inch of it had been covered in blood save for one tiny speck along the edge. There was no doubt in his mind that the blood belonged to Lassiter. He let the folder fall closed, his heart heavier now than it had been when his father first broke the news. How could they lie to him? Why didn't they just tell him the truth? Why fill him with the false hope of being able to see Lassiter again when that was never going to happen?

Catching a glimpse of his father talking with the chief Shawn suddenly wanted to get away. After all, on some level his father must have known the truth. It was one thing for his friends to tell him lies, but his own father? Without wasting another second he beat a hasty retreat from the precinct. Let his father worry about him for a little while, maybe it would teach him a lesson. Though knowing his father it would only serve to make him mad. Shawn just did not care.

In the dark of night he strolled the sidewalks weaving his way through the city until he stood outside the Psych office. A crazy idea that allowed him to stay close to Lassiter all these years, the one thing he looked forward to doing when he got up in the morning. Perhaps he should have known that something built on a lie was not going to last forever. He slipped the key into lock and pushed open the door. The interior was dark, quiet. The way he wanted it to stay. The door closed with a hiss behind him.

He slunk off into the shadows falling into one of the chairs before the big window. Alone with his thoughts he tried to decide what to do from this point forward. He could stay and try to get on with his life, dealing every day with the memories that came rushing back into his mind. He could run, hit the road, travel the country like he had before. Or he could just put an end to it all, bring his pain to an end once and for all. As he weighed his options he picked up on the slightest of sounds near the front door. Probably Gus looking for him. He stayed in his chair, brooding, wanting to cry and yet all together tired of the action.

When the door opened he stayed in his chair. The light in the outer portion of the office flickered on. Any second now he expected to hear Gus call his name. Instead he heard the silent rustle of clothing, a suppressed cough. Thinking it might be some burglar come to see what goods they had Shawn jumped out of the chair, his sorrow turning to anger. How dare someone waltz into his place of business with the intent of robbing him when he was mourning the loss of his love.

Ready to give the burglar the surprise of his life Shawn walked through the entry way and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Lassie," the name passing between his lips like a gentle caress of the wind.


	35. Tougher than the Rest

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Tougher than the Rest  
**

He thought for a split second that it might be his imagination playing tricks on him. Lassiter was dead. That's what they led him to believe, that the man he loved had been killed by Patrick's younger brother. So how could it be that he was standing before Shawn in the Psych office? Then it dawned on him. When did he hear anyone actually say the words, actually been told that Lassiter had died? When his father came into the interrogation room to break bad news he instantly jumped to conclusions. He had been foolish. What he should have done was let his father say what was on his mind, get out the truth. But why had his father chosen to stay quiet on the ride back to the precinct? Had he not seen the pain Shawn was suffering and he still did not speak up?

What did it matter now anyway?

"Lassiter," he said again, trying to make sense of the scene before him. His lover definitely looked worse for the wear, blood on his shirt, his hair messed. He took a step toward Shawn, but turned out to be unsteady on his feet and sank to his knees. Shawn practically ran to him, falling to the floor to offer whatever support he possibly could. The second he touched Lassiter it was like his world turned upside down. Physical contact with a person he never thought he would get to see again. A tear slid down his cheek as he pulled Lassiter close. The other man kind of moaned in pain.

"Sorry," Shawn quickly apologized, loosening his hold. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?" he inquired as he started searching Lassiter for the source of the blood. The picture of the badge flashed into his mind.

Lassiter pushed his hands away. "Stop it, Shawn," he grumbled. "I'll be fine, it was just a cut."

"Then why do you look like death warmed over?"

"Because the asshole drugged me and left me in some grimy apartment."

"Oh."

Lassiter must have heard the slight change in Shawn's voice because he finally looked him in the eye, forcing a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Shawn. I don't mean to seem like a jerk, the guy just pisses me off. What I would not give-"

"Jules already did," Shawn told him. Then quickly filled Lassiter in on what had happened, including how the others had led him to believe the worst had happened to the detective. It may have been his imagination but he could have sworn that Lassiter looked angry upon hearing the story, the recount of events. He definitely look pissed that Patrick's younger brother made an attempt on Shawn's life in his own house. He muttered something explicit under his breath and it actually made Shawn giggle. How wonderful it felt to giggle. At the mere sight of the man he loved the dark cloud looming over his head had completely vanished. Yes, Lassiter was not in tip-top shape but at least he was alive, at least they would have a chance.

And then Shawn came to a realization that caused him to sit fully on the floor, a stupefied expression on his face. "Shawn?"

"Of all the places you could have gone you came here," he whispered. "You could have tracked him down or gone home or even to the precinct, but you came here."

Lassiter took hold of his hand. "I came to see you. I will not lie, Shawn, I was afraid. Scared you might do something stupid with me out of the picture."

"I did do something stupid."

"Shawn…"

"I broke into the police impound lot," he confessed.

Lassiter looked at him in silence for a few minutes, then started laughing. The joy in his laughter was enough to make Shawn smile and before he knew it he was laughing, too. He had no idea what the hell was so funny, but he found it felt nice to laugh, one of those things he really needed. The laughter came to an end when Lassiter fell into him, a bit weak from his ordeal. That was the point when Shawn decided to take charge of the situation. He got up off the floor and disappeared into the other room only to return with a glass of water. Lassiter took it gratefully. Then came the bowl of cereal for him to eat. Once Shawn made sure he was going to be okay he placed a call to his father, who in typical fashion ranted in anger as soon as he heard Shawn's voice. It must have been a good five minutes before Shawn get a word in and when he passed along the good news he heard the surprise in his father's voice.

Maybe they had not been lying to him, perhaps there was something more than a bloodied badge that led them to believe Lassiter dead.

His father promised to be over as quickly as he could. And in true form Henry arrived less than ten minutes later with Jules and Gus on his heels. Much to Shawn's surprise even Buzz showed up. Then it was explained to him while Jules and Henry fussed over Lassiter that Gus and Buzz had been out looking for the detective since the incident with Patrick's younger brother. Shawn felt grateful to have such wonderful friends, giving both of them big hugs. For the first time in months he actually felt happy, almost like having a weight lifted from his shoulders.

In the end Jules and Henry made the decision to have Lassiter taken to the hospital for a check out despite all his protests. They managed to convince him on the way out the door that it might be a good idea since nobody had any real clue what the guy pumped into his system. As Henry was helping Lassiter into the back of the police cruiser Jules turned to Shawn.

"Shawn….there's something I think you should know," she said, her voice oddly void of emotion. "He's gone, Shawn. Patrick's younger brother. He died on the way to the hospital."


	36. Unlovable

**Chapter Thirty-six: Unlovable  
**

He shivered more from the last few months than he did from the cold of the rainy night. How swiftly everything seemed to move around him. When he stopped to think about how much his life changed it always took his breath away. It amazed him how much things shifted in the span of a year. The way he went from being happy, perhaps a bit of a nuisance to some people to being bitter, lost in the darkness trying desperately to find his way back out. He nearly lost his life at the hands of a man he thought he could love. He had foolishly thought he found love only to realize the other person did not love him in the same way. Perhaps Patrick had been incapable of the act. Something in his past, perhaps, had screwed up him mentally.

None of it mattered.

Patrick lay in the ground, a tombstone marking his grave. It still bothered Shawn to some degree that the detective managed to retain somewhat of a good name. Then again, even now as he glared at the words etched into the gray stone turned dark by the rain, he still felt some love toward Patrick. He figured he might always carry a little piece of the deranged man with him up until the end. Not every moment he spent with Patrick had been bad, a moment of terror, something to be feared. They shared a deal of loving embraces. Moments of laughter. Fits of giggles that ended with them gasping for breath, tears rolling down their cheeks. He planned on retaining those moments, holding on to them for all he was worth.

And as much as it pained him he planned on remembering the bad times as well. The worst of the worst. Like how it felt when he cracked his head on the coffee table, a little accident that never would have taken had Patrick not pushed him. Or the way it felt to have the sharp blade of a knife stuck fast into his side because he did not want to give in to the advances of a man he had grown to fear. Patrick took so much from him, tainted his world. In a way Patrick took from him some of the most important pieces of his life. He wondered if he would ever be okay.

If he would ever be able to get over that night.

Even just thinking of the way he was treated made his heart beat faster within the confine of his ribcage. On that night he lost what little innocence remained. Patrick took from him something he did not think he could replace, left a whole that no amount of construction could completely hide.

And it worried him. Made him think about his future with Lassiter. Who would want someone as damaged as him, as broken inside as him? He should have been happy, extatic to know the man he truly loved was safe and sound. But deep down he knew it was only a matter of time before things began to fall apart again. For the last two days Lassiter had been bombarded with one set of questions after another as they sought to find all the answers behind his kidnapping. He was able to lead them back to the apartment building, show them the evidence they sought, help them to find some much needed answers. On a deep level, one he was not willing to share with anyone, Shawn despised Lassiter for the way he seemed able to deal with the incident, moving on without even the slightest hint of trouble.

Why could the detective put the past where it belonged when he could not?

Brushing droplets of water from his eyes Shawn turned on his heel and started back down the path toward the cemetery entrance. By now the night watchman would be making his rounds and he was not in the mood to get caught. At this point he was not entirely sure he could think up a convincing enough lie to get out of a jam. Instead he moved amongst the rows of tombstones until the happened upon the gate. They were still slightly parted from being pried apart. He had not planned on visiting Patrick's grave, not even interested in saying goodbye to the monster. But he suddenly found himself at the cemetery and made the journey inside.

Now he wondered what had been the purpose. It only served to depress him more.

And to leave him with a deep chill.

He made his way back to his apartment, a dark shadow on the rainy night, the world passing him by. When he reached the building he began to think it might be a good idea to consider moving. Nothing bad happened in his place, per say, but the memories, the fact that somewhere out there another brother of Patrick's might be trying to hunt him down was enough to make him reconsider. At one point he might have thought about living with Lassiter. There had been a time when the simple thought of spending time with the detective, of having a home together, would have lit up his night.

Now it was just one of the many thoughts he banished to the back of his mind.

Nobody was going to want him haunting the house, his dark presence ruining the atmosphere. He slipped the keys from his pocket, pushed one into the lock and listened as it clicked, releasing its hold. Pushing the door open he was surprised to find the lamp near the couch throwing a soft glow over the place. when he had left it had been dark, dreary. He froze in the doorway, afraid of who or what waited within the confines of his apartment. Thoughts of another maniacal brother sprang back into his head.

And then Lassiter stepped into sight, a slight smile forming on his face when he spotted Shawn. "Where have you been? You had me worried."

Worried. He was always going to have them worried. They were going to treat him like a nut fresh out of the crazy house. One wrong word and he might go off the deep end. He opted to say nothing, letting his keys slip from his hand to rest on a nearby table. he deposited his shows by the door, drew off his coat and slung it over the arm of the couch despite it being wet.

"Shawn?"

"Why are you here, Carlton?"

The detective blinked at the use of his first name. "Do you want me to leave?"

Did, did he want him to walk out the door and never look back? "No."

"Is something wrong, Shawn?"

The big question, the one he kept asking himself over and over. Of course there was something wrong and it had nothing to do with Patrick. And yet everything to do with what Patrick had done to him. The damn detective tainted him. Every time he thought of falling into Lassiter's arms he would get a freshly unburied image of Patrick and witness once again the pain the other man wrought. He was desperate to be loved, but afraid of what might happen if he let his heart open again. How strange to have fought so hard to get Lassiter into his life only to feel he should be left alone to die in the darkness.

As he stared at Lassiter he realized how much he did no deserve the detective. "I…it's just been a long day. I'm tired."

"Maybe you should go to bed," Lassiter responded quietly, frowning the slightest bit.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed not once noticing how his attitude affected the man he loved. Without another word he moved silently through the apartment, passing Lassiter and slipping into the peaceful darkness of his bedroom. He shed his wet clothing, grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser. In moments he slipped under the blanket, his back to the door. He listened to the sounds of Lassiter moving around his apartment until he finally fell asleep.


	37. Uncertainty

**Chapter Thirty-seven: Uncertainty  
**

He frowned, hitting the key repeatedly, perhaps a tad harder than he should have, his frustration getting the best of him. The computer still refused to comply with his request further pissing him off. He smacked the side of the monitor knowing it would do no good aside from making him feel perhaps marginally better for a fleeting moment. If the stupid thing kept disobeying him he might have to pull his gun, show the stupid piece of equipment who was boss.

"I know that look," O'Hara said. She had been sitting quietly across from him at her desk chewing on a pen off and on while doing her paperwork. "The chief will have your badge if you fire that in here."

"It might just be worth it," he grumbled, glaring at the monitor. The irritating cursor continued to blink without doing much else. Until the computer got its ass in gear he was being held up and if there was one thing he hated it was getting stuck with paperwork.

O'Hara put down her pen. "Something tells me the computer isn't the real reason for your attitude. What's on your mind, Carlton?"

He glared in her direction wishing she could keep to herself, then realizing his thoughts were verging on rude. It was not her fault that he was feeling frustrated, angered, and somehow deeply concerned and troubled all at the same time. It had nothing at all to do with his ordeal with Patrick's younger brother, whose name he did not even bother to learn since he could care less. The cut on his arm had been cleaned, treated, and was currently wrapped in a fresh bandage. Even the drug that had been introduced to his system was long gone without any ill effects.

His problem was Shawn.

But how did he tell that to O'Hara without her making some big deal about it? He counted himself lucky she hadn't gone all big eyed schoolgirl crazy when he finally admitted to loving Shawn. That would have been enough to make him sick to his stomach. Opening up about his problems with Shawn meant inviting her into his life and since first meeting her he did his best to keep the relationship professional. Though he supposed those boundaries had been crossed by now, perhaps even more times than he cared to count and most of the blame could be laid at Shawn's feet.

Another jolt of guilt for thinking ill of the man who stole his heart.

"I bet it has something to do with Shawn," she spoke up as if she could read his mind.

"What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "Call it a woman's intuition. I take all is not well in paradise."

Lassiter scoffed. "Paradise."

Then before he realized it he was telling her everything. Shawn had been acting weird since his return. It had been three days at least and they hadn't even so much as kissed. For some reason he felt like Shawn was doing his best to avoid having any contact with him. He thought it quite absurd given how much Shawn used to pester him. He found he actually missed having Shawn coming waltzing into the precinct to start spouting crazy theories that would somehow end up being true. They hardly spoke to each other, usually spending their nights sitting on the couch side by side acting like the other was not there. He hated to think they had gone through hell just to end up back where they started.

Alone.

To her credit O'Hara listened without interruption, putting her work aside to give him her full attention. And when he finished laying out all his worries…okay, maybe not all of them. Just because he fell in love with Shawn did not mean he was an entirely different person. There were still parts of his personality he refused to relinquish. He waited, he hated to think almost anxiously, to see what she had to say. Each moment of silence that passed after he stopped talking only made matters worse. He was beginning to regret having said anything when she finally sighed.

"You want to know what I think?" she asked him.

He glared. "No, I just shared all that with you because I was too freakin' bored. What the hell do you think?"

In her usual way O'Hara shrugged off his attitude. "I think he's still dealing with the issues of what happened between him and Patrick. Think about it, Carlton. All those terrible things done to him, everything he has been through, it's not something you just shove into the corner and get over."

"He's had time to deal."

"Have you stopped to ask him what's the matter?" she threw out.

Lassiter blinked. Come to think of it, no, he kept going right along with the silence instead of actually getting to the heart of the problem. Since when did he run from things? He was usually the one who ran in to deal with the problem. And the answer came to him without much thinking. There was a part of him that did not want to discuss the matter with Shawn for fear it might be the end of something that had yet to truly start to begin with. If they spoke of his problems Shawn might come to the conclusion that the relationship was never going to work out and decide they should head in separate directions. He was not okay with the idea. But he knew that O'Hara was correct. He needed to suck it up and actually talk to Shawn. No more running away from whatever monster waited lurking in the corner.

His computer beeped drawing his attention. A uniformed officer came over to have a word with O'Hara and their moment passed. He got back to work on his report all the while thinking about Shawn. Tonight, he promised himself, tonight he was going to face the problem head on.

Even if it meant ending up broken hearted.


	38. One Step

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: One Step  
**

All the way home that evening he tried to plan the perfect conversation in his mind. Talking to Shawn was going to be harder than he thought. He had never been stuck in a situation like this and the last thing he wanted to do was blow it out of the water. Who would have thought that he would actually be doing this, falling in love with Shawn Spencer? He could still recall how it felt the first time the kid came waltzing into the precinct like he owned the place. Probably got the attitude from his dad. How quickly Shawn went from being a suspect to a most trusted investigator. And though he may have been falling head over heels in love with the man he still refused to let go of some little annoyances. No doubt there would always be things Shawn would do that ended up pissing him off. And so it went.

As he pulled into the driveway he fretted over what might happen. He got a hold of Shawn after lunch, asked him to come over to his house. It might have been nice to visit Shawn's apartment once in a while, but Lassiter wanted to get him out of the place, stick him somewhere with more light and a brighter atmosphere. Perhaps if he could manage to get Shawn in a happier mood, pull him out of his slump, he could figure out what the hell was bothering him. Taking O'Hara's advice, was the world ever going to stop changing?

With light visible behind the curtains he found little hope in knowing Shawn cared enough to follow his request. For a while after the phone call he wondered if Shawn would bother to leave his apartment. Apparently Gus had yet to see him down at the Psych Office over the last few days. And as much as he may have hated to admit it to anyone there were a few cases piling up at the precinct that could use a bit of Shawn's special touch. But of course he said nothing of the sort to his fellow officers and detectives. No point in letting them think he had gone soft on the boy.

And yet, he might have done just that.

He walked into the house to find it quiet like it had been every other night. A small trickle of doubt, fear began to work its way down his spine. "Shawn?" he called as he left his house keys on a nearby table.

"Hold on," Shawn yelled back from somewhere upstairs.

The sound of his voice was enough to put Lassiter at ease. One small step at a time, he kept telling himself as he slipped out of his work shoes. He began to undo his tie wanting to ditch the confining suit. How should he start the conversation? O'Hara could have been a bit more helpful by giving him a few pointers, maybe help him figure out the best way to easy into this situation. Lassiter had to be honest with himself, he wouldn't have bothered to take her advice anyways. Nothing against her, it was just his nature. When he heard movement at the top of the stairs he glanced up, his actions slowing.

"I hope you don't mind," Shawn said, standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest. "I was hanging out and..." he shrugged. "Just took a quick shower, made sure not to make a mess or anything."

Shawn stood at the top of the stairs clad in only a towel precariously wrapped around his waist. He must have made the attempt to towel dry his hair at one point because it stuck in a wild yet alluring manner. In the weak light of the hallway his skin seemed to shimmer where little droplets of water remained. For a moment Lassiter was unable to say anything, his mouth forgetting how to work. If there had ever been a doubt in his mind about how he felt for Shawn it had just gone up in a puff of smoke. He forced himself to look away, to stare at anything but the half dressed man at the top of his stairs. They weren't even officially a couple. There was still too much to cover, to discuss about where this thing between them was going.

When he finally looked back up he found Shawn had disappeared. Confused he made his way up the stairs in search of the missing psychic only to find him standing in the bathroom fussing with his hair. Lassiter paused in the doorway without saying a word. He stood there for a few moments just watching Shawn. To think, here was someone who used to drive him up the wall standing in his house with barely a stitch of clothing on his body. Who would have seen this coming? Nobody would believe him if he felt so inclined to share; which he did not. As he watched Shawn he noticed the movement of his body, the way the muscles in his arms tensed, relaxed. For the first time in days Shawn seemed like his old self.

On impulse he walked into the bathroom. Shawn turned to look at him, an expectant look upon his face. He took Shawn's face in his hands and brought their lips together in what should have been a simple kiss. It sent a rippling shockwave through his body, an electric spark he found he quite liked. If he caught Shawn by surprise it did not seem to bother him in the least. The kiss lengthened into a little something more. With each passing second Lassiter's worries about his own feelings for Shawn disappeared. He accepted that he loved the wacky guy no matter what it said about him.

The conversation with O'Hara popped into his mind.

At the totally wrong time.

He forced it away, pulling Shawn closer to him not minding in the least that his clothes got slightly damp. One hand ghosted over Shawn's bare back, along his side, over the scar from the wound in his side. A little voice in the back of his mind told him to stop, take a step back and put an end to this whole thing before it got out of control. What if he pushed Shawn one step too far and only made matters worse? Though from the way Shawn was responding in kind that seemed highly unlikely.

Shawn's towel fell away. lassiter didn't care. Shawn started to tug on his shirt trying to get it free from where he'd tucked it into his pants. Getting fully caught up in the moment Lassiter helped, quickly undoing the buttons and letting it slip off his arms. When he leaned in for another kiss Shawn stopped him with a hand to the chest. That little trickle of fear returned. He had pushed things a step too far, screwed them up even more.

"Not in here," Shawn whispered, locking eyes.

Lassiter felt his heart skip a beat. Was he really going to do this, take this big step in their relationship? If he went through with the feelings rushing through his body there would definitely be no turning back. No denying he loved Shawn. It would be a line crossed. They stood in silence a bit longer before Lassiter finally took Shawn by the hand and led him toward the bedroom. Once there he fell onto the bed with Shawn, kissing him, biting his bottom lip.

"I love you," he whispered in Shawn's ear.

**FIN**


End file.
